


A Gentleman and a Scholar

by walkandtalk



Series: A Gentleman and a Scholar [1]
Category: Daddy-Long-Legs - Jean Webster, Star Trek, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alien Cultural Differences, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Cardassia, Cardassian Anatomy, Cardassian Culture, Courting Rituals, Courtship, Epistolary, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Julian Bashir, Pining Elim Garak, Relationship of equals, Romance, Secret Identity, Slow Burn, Space Husbands, Wooing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:27:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 35,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26431903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/walkandtalk/pseuds/walkandtalk
Summary: Julian believes he's alone and abandoned in the universe until a mysterious philanthropist arranges for him to finish his studies in Cardassia, of all places. Grateful, Julian starts to send messages to his anonymous benefactor.Blushing, discreet touching of hands, and tea parlors ahead.
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Series: A Gentleman and a Scholar [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2005183
Comments: 613
Kudos: 252





	1. Two Suitcases

Room 002, Ba’aten Hall

Central University

Lakarian City

Cardassia

By the time Julian had arrived in Lakarian City it had been past the evening meal, past when it was proper to arrive and expect any service, but a stern House Mistress had been roused from her quarters to show Julian into his. Her long dark hair was captured in a severe bun atop her head, her neck ridges mostly hidden underneath a severely tailored kaftan of burgundy.

“Kiba’avzayn,” he said in his best Cardăsda. “I am Julian Bashir.”

“Chul’n Bas’ir,” the House Mistress said, struggling to wrap her tongue around the alien sounds of his name. Julian attempted to correct her, but she simply narrowed her pale blue eyes at him and turned on her heel, marching through the doors of the monolithic hall. He was left to scramble after her, two small suitcases in tow. 

“This is Ba’aten Hall, the living quarters for Medical Science students,” she said, her heels clicking on the marble floors, echoing in eerie silence. “As such, you are the only male here and the only non-Cardassian. Your quarters are in the basement.” She halted, Julian almost crashing into her. “I’m sure you understand.”

Julian nodded. “Yes, House Mistress.” A Cardassian male studying any of the sciences was unusual, Julian had learned, let alone a Human male at the University. He was simply grateful to be allowed in any ivory tower in the universe to worry about what floor his quarters would be.

“Last bell will be upon us soon. You do not want to be caught missing any bells, my students are held to the highest standards,” she warned. They descended down a set of wide stairs to the basement. She reached into her wide skirts and pulled out a set of security keystones and coded Julian to the first door they came to.

“This will be your room. Your educational documents will be with the bursar in the morning. First meal is served in the main hall upstairs upon the third bell. Do not be late.”

Julian nodded. “Pokor malin çad,” he replied gratefully.

The Head Mistress narrowed her eyes again, sniffed, and left him alone.

His new student quarters were huge, larger than anything he had at home, but sparsely furnished with dark, utilitarian furniture. A serviceable desk stood next to two large high windows. Julian imagined it allowing a bit of sunlight in the day. Something analogous to a bed, egg-shaped and lumpy looking, sat opposite to the bed. A tall chest of drawers was tucked into a corner. The entirety of Julian Subatoi Bashir’s existence could fit in two drawers: one for his clothes and toiletries, the other housed a few treasures from home. A narrow door led to an efficient bathroom with unusual facilities. Julian was grateful he had spent most of his trip here studying as much modern Cardassian culture as he could find, including how to bathe as a mammal in reptilian designed facilities.

When Julian tucked the last of his belongings away he had nothing left to do for the day. It was dark out, too late to explore his new home, he knew no one and there was no one to send a message to.

Julian reconsidered.

Perhaps there was one person.

He turned on the console at his issued desk, a stark and ancient-looking thing, and started a log to the only address he’d ever been given. It took a few moments to navigate through the Cardăsda on the screen. He’d been studying for weeks, but he knew his understanding of the grammar and root symbols were shaky, at best.

“To the kind benefactor who sends Federation misfits to university,” Julian started, haltingly. “Forgive my poor pronunciation, I know I need to improve my Cardăsda. Maybe speaking to you will help, as a chat with a friend who will never respond, not even with criticism,” he continued brightly, gaining more confidence in the new language as he continued.

“I finally made it to Central University. I’ve never traveled so far by transport before, I can’t say that I enjoy it. I’d never been to a spaceport. Well, I must have, when I was little, but I don’t remember. And I don’t have someone to send messages to, but as you haven’t asked for any, perhaps you won’t enjoy listening to these. It seems wrong and ungrateful to not at least acknowledge regularly your kindness.”

Julian swallowed around the thickness that had developed in his throat whenever he thought about the worst day of his life.

“When I was asked to leave Starfleet Medical, I thought my career aspirations were over. I’ve wanted to be a physician since I was a child-- but I imagine you know that, and despite my status as a secret augment I was able to remain undetected for almost a year, which I must infer you knew that, too. You seem to know a lot of things about me, and I know nothing about you. One might infer you are a person of power and influence, a Federation diplomat to Cardassia. Or maybe you're a retired physician and needing a pet project. Perhaps I am your science experiment.

“Or maybe you're a spy, trying to drop an unwitting Federation operative into Cardassian higher education.” Julian grinned at his own silliness. “I loved spy holo novels as a youth. I imagined dashing around cities, saving the day, getting the girl, that sort of thing. If I knew how one could get into that line of work, perhaps I would have tried it. But I’ll never know,” he mused, swinging his arms behind his head. “You saved me and found a corner of the galaxy that doesn’t know about my past and will let me study medicine. Thank you. I imagine I’ll be thanking you for the rest of my life.”

A bell chimed.

“Ah. That will be the warning for lights out. They warned me they are quite strict about that. I’ll be a quick study, I hope,” Julian said, half-smiling in self-doubt. “Goodnight.”

Julian turned off the console, prepared for bed, and fell into a dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ki ba’avzayn - Good tidings, generic greeting
> 
> Pokor malin çad - you do a service, an expression of thanks
> 
> Gentle Readers,
> 
> I'm trying my hand at my other favorite space-husbands, Garak and Julian. I've been very loyal to Kirk and Spock all these years, but I've had this story in my head for a while. It's based on Jean Webster's novel "[Daddy Long Legs](https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/157)" which is in the public domain and can be read in its entirety at Project Gutenberg. It's a lovely, soft, and sweet story that has inspired a lot of works, plays, movies, and musicals. I think it needs some rogueish but head-over-heels Garak in there.
> 
> There is another WIP by DictionaryWrites based on a similar idea and pairing, no infringement intended.


	2. Ke'dal

Room 002, Ba’aten Hall

Central University

 ~~Lakarian City~~ Lakariy’ane

Cardassia

Julian jolted awake at the sound of the second bell. He had every intention being awake at the first, but had slept through it. He slipped on a dark grey jumpsuit and rushed out the door. 

Other students were making their way into the main hall set like a Terran ballroom with soaring ceilings and ornate chandeliers. The sumptuous room, a stark contrast with his quarters in the basement, was lined with tables and chairs in long rows filling up with at least a couple hundred students, all eagerly chatting before the morning meal was served. He stood in the doorway, feeling adrift among a sea of Cardassians, feeling extremely conspicuous. All of the students filtered into seats in a predetermined order, an efficient dance Julian did not know the steps to.

“You must be the new student,” a lilting voice said to his left. He turned to see a round-faced woman with wide eyes. “I’m Ulani Belor.”

“Julian Bashir. Yes, I arrived last night.”

“You’re a second year in Applied Medicine Sciences, same as me. Would you like me to show you where to sit?”

Julian nodded gratefully and followed her to the far edge of the room where a line of nine women sat, all staring intently at them as they approached.

“This is Joo-lee-an,” Ulani said, making him just that much more grateful for her and her attempt to pronounce his name correctly. “You’re seat is here, across from me. We’re organized by class and subclass here, so you’ll get to know us all very well.”

Julian nodded, recalling everything he gleaned from the sole etiquette book he could fine, and tried not to show too much teeth in his smile. “Thank you. I’m excited to be here.”

The woman at his left shot him a sharp look. “Why? Are there no schools of medicine where you are from?”

“Jil,” Ulani hissed. Breakfast had started, tables were being handed plates piled high with food he did not recognize.

“Yes, of course,” Julian said tightly, keeping his expression light, an answer he had rehearsed and rehearsed. “I had been attending one of the universities in the Federation until two months ago. My studies were interrupted and I could not continue there. Thankfully, I was given an opportunity to come here from my benefactor.”

“Brocol lerayt edek?” Ulani asked, her expression clouded. “I don’t understand your meaning.”

“Benefactor,” Julian repeated, now certain he was misusing the term. The others looked at him in bewilderment. “I don’t know the Cardăsda word… person who pays for things, does good things for others?”

Jil and the others nodded in understanding. “You have a Ke’dal,” Ulani said.

“Ah, yes,” Julian agreed, thankful to have the right word. “A Ke’dal.”

“How fortunate you are, Joo-lee-an,” Ulani said. The others nodded again, and Julian had the distinct feeling that the temperature at the table had warmed a few degrees.

\--

After five days, he finally found the time to send another message.

“To my Ke’dal,” Julian started. “I’ve been informed that is what I might call you, and I like it better than ‘ kind benefactor who sends Federation misfits to university.’ I had to look it up: it means a friend who looks after you, and I like that. I regret to inform you that you are helping the most ignorant, stupidest, and least learned creature to grace the halls of the Central University. I have been told that, explicitly, at least a dozen times so far. I came in as a student in the second year but it appears likely the Head Instructors will demote me to a first year, as my training is inadequate in several areas. Things I used to find easy are exceptionally hard here, and sometimes I don’t even know what they are saying, so I can’t even begin to form a response. I’m so busy trying to understand what I just read and my classmates are already on the next lesson.

“I keep applying my Federation brain to Cardassian problems. Last night I tried to submit my immigration form to the Bursar, did you know on everything I’ve been writing Lakarian City. It’s _Lakariy’ane_ , of course, only Federation rubes pronounce it that way. That joke is all over the University now.”

Julian sighed, rubbing his neck, trying to ease some of the tension of the week out.

“I’ve been so used to things being easy,” he admitted sourly. “I’ve been the brightest in class for so long, I’ve forgotten how to struggle learning. I feel like I’m an infant here. I’m not giving up, not by a long shot, but I needed to tell someone who wouldn’t be… disappointed in me.”

He paused, thinking. “In good news, I think I’ve managed to secure some allies if not yet friends. Ulani Belor is a very kind soul, she offered to help me in Pharmacology, which I desperately need. Jil Orra part of the study group, although…” Julian snorted. “It’s petty, but she made mention that she’s the daughter of Gul Madred four times, which I think means she’s ready to ascend the throne of Cardassia, as soon as they realize they need a monarchy.”

“Jil asked if I would be going back to Earth to visit my family. I told her that I was orphaned, which is a lie. Judging by her response I think on Cardassia that being an orphan is even _worse_ than the truth of my circumstance. In any case, she said I was lucky to have a Ke’dal.

“I _am_ lucky to have you. Thank you for listening, my Ke’dal. Goodnight.”

\--

Unbeknownst to Julian, in a shop not too far away, a Cardassian choked on his evening kanar while listening to anguished Human sweetly calling him “my Ke’dal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brocol lerayt edek? - did I hear you correctly?  
> Ka'del - a friend who takes care of you (as far as Julian can translate)
> 
> Gentle Readers,
> 
> I'm scouring the internet and pilfering and conlang-lifting anything and everything I can get. I'm sure there are lots of creative minds I need to credit, but to start: Star Trek Expanded Universe website and Tinsnip and Vyc's list have been a lot of fun to pour through.


	3. The Tailor Shop

City Center

Lakariy’ane

Cardassia

> “Dear Ke’dal. Did you know I’m a terrible dresser? I didn’t either.”

\--

A month later he was feeling perhaps they were not going to demote him to first year and he was (barely) holding his own in his studies. He was still struggling but credited Ulani Belor for keeping him afloat. He found himself on most evenings in the study group by her invitation, which usually included Jil Orra. Jil was self-important and difficult to get along with, even by Cardassian standards, but she was very good at xenochemistry and bioimaging and was not stingy in sharing her notes.

Not to say that he was feeling at home. Every day, hourly even, there were things that reinforced that he was the stranger in a strange land.

So it was on a sunny morning, pouring over his notes with Jil, Ulani, and several of his fellow second year students in the mostly deserted main hall, that he was caught up in the whirlwind that was a young Cardassian’s social life.

“My elder sister will be visiting me,” Ulani announced as they finished their studies for the day, a pleased smile about her mouth. “Just in time for Zroumayn Rhakam.”

“Trying to catch the eye of a young Gul, no doubt,” Jil replied ungenerously. 

The other women tittered. “Not enough of them to go around,” one said slyly.

“Not enough by far,” Jil agreed. “Joo-lee-an, what are you wearing to Zroumayn Rhakam?”

Julian looked down at his grey jumpsuit, unsure what Zroumayn Rhakam was. “This?” Ulani and Jil immediately wrinkled their noses in distaste. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s the beginning of the social season,” Jil said. “You can’t wear, I beg your pardon, that dreary and ugly… pants thing.”

“Pants thing?”

“There are no words in Cardăsda for what you wear in public,” Jil said acerbically. “What else do you have in your closet?”

Julian did not reply for a long moment, which made Ulani groan. “Oh dear, Joo-lee-an. You stick out like a battaa anywhere you go.” Her well-meaning bluntness was the charm in her kindness, but Julian felt oddly grateful as she seemed to want to help. “In any case, you’ll still want to attend social events, and you haven’t got anything appropriate.”

That seemed to mean that Julian needed to be escorted off campus immediately in search of more appropriate clothing. His classmates were delighted to have a break from studying and he wasn’t going to object to a small break but was nervous about what they had in mind. Julian was perfectly content taking the public transport, but Jil Orra insisted on the five of them piling into her Gul father’s private transport, which he kept at the University for her express purpose.

So there they were, standing in a Lakariy’ane market street in front of a lavishly decorated storefront. Jil led their group in, where she was warmly greeted by a middle-aged man dressed in a fine olive and grey tunic cut in interesting patterns across his neck. His black hair swept was back neatly from his face which held sharp blue eyes and a courteous closed-mouthed smile.

“Mister Garak,” Jil said, pushing Julian to the front of their throng. “We have a companion in need of your assistance.”

The Mister Garak in question seemed surprised to find Julian, a Human specimen, turning up in his shop, let alone a Human following a gaggle of women from the University.

“This is Joo-lee-an Bashir,” Ulani explained. “He’s a new arrival from Earth and did not pack enough clothes to get him through the social season. We thought you might be able to help.”

Mister Garak clasped his hands in front of him, his expression welcoming and animated. “Honored ladies, you have come to the right shop. I would be delighted to help your companion. Mister Bashir? This way to my fitting room. Your companions might be interested in the Krellian silk that arrived just last week.”

That received a chorus of appreciative murmurs as they moved to pull out the bolts of fabric and examine them more closely.

“What a challenge it will be to dress my first Human,” the tailor said softly in a language Julian hadn’t heard in weeks.

“You speak Standard,” Julian incredulously noted, his heart clenching in his chest in a way that felt a bit like homesickness.

“Oh, just a little I picked up here and there,” Mister Garak said, switching back to Cardăsda, flitting about him, taking measurements across his shoulders. “In the tailoring business, one has the opportunity to meet a great many people. My customers are very discerning and I try my best to get the latest in notions and patterns from the best off-world suppliers. It helps when you can share a few friendly words. How are you enjoying Lakariy’ane?”

“I’m afraid this is the first time I’ve stepped foot off campus since I’ve arrived,” Julian admitted.

Mister Garak tsked and shook his head. “That will not do. To come to Cardassia and live in one of its jeweled cities and never see it? All the students have time for little diversions, surely. Arms up, please.”

Julian obliged. “I’m a bit of a simpleton here, I’m afraid.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” the tailor said kindly, wrapping his hands around Julian’s wrists, adjusting and measuring fingers to elbow, wrist to clavicle, gently guiding Julian here and there.

“I’ve not had the benefit of the worldly experiences of the tailoring business,” he replied, feeling a bit daring to disclose his concerns in the quiet fitting room. “My Federation education failed to give me even the basics of Cardassian culture or physiology, so I’m scrambling to play catch up.”

“Ah, I see,” Mister Garak said, finishing up his measuring. “You understand the words, but perhaps not all that it means. In Cardassia you must know both what is said, how it is said, and what is not said.” He smiled enigmatically. “Now, Mister Bashir, how do you feel about silver organdy?”

“I beg your pardon?”

\--

“So he said I needed about a half dozen bespoke outfits because nothing would fit my Human shoulders. But he was able to send me home in this,” Julian tugged at the camel colored jacket with wide gold buttons going up the neck, showing it off to his anonymous benefactor.

“I feel silly in these clothes,” Julian admitted. “But Ulani said I looked half Cardassian and not even Jil had anything bad to say. The fabric is a little heavy, I’m already melting in this heat.” Julian lifted the bag that Mister Garak had sent home with him. “I’ve got a bag of underclothes and a robe and a shopping list for shoes and hats,” Julian continued, pulling out items of the bag to show his anonymous benefactor. “And a--” he paused, lifting a heavy bundle out of the bag he didn’t know was there.

“It’s a book,” Julian said, confused. “ _The Never Ending Sacrifice.”_ A note fell out of the real paper pages. 

> To assist with your cultural studies. Welcome to Cardassia.

Julian blinked down at the note and book, and then looked up to the camera. “That was kind of him. Have you read this book? Is it any good? You know, if you ever responded, we could discuss literature. It might be fun, and it’s been a while since I’ve had time to read for leisure, but I think I’ll take Mister Garak’s advice and try this. But maybe you don’t have much time doing… whatever it is mysterious intergalactic philanthropists do.” 

A bell rang.

“Well, there’s the last bell. I should say goodnight. Goodnight, my Ke’dal.”


	4. Leaving Something to the Imagination

Room 002, Ba’aten Hall

Central University

Lakariy’ane

Cardassia

> “I finished _The Never Ending Sacrifice_. I won’t pretend that I enjoyed it, but Ulani recommended another of Ulan Corac’s novels, which might be a little more accessible to my hopelessly Federation viewpoint. Do you have any recommendations for me, literature or otherwise? Next semester I’ll be picking a specialty. Jil Orra is picking pharmacology, which is fine because I would never, but Ulani hasn’t picked yet and neither have I. 
> 
> “I would appreciate some advice. Let me know if you have any. Goodnight, my Ke’dal.”

Central University, the premier research and science institution of Cardassia Prime, was divided pretty clearly by the two Cardassian genders, the women in the engineering, agriculture, and medical sciences and the men in military sciences. Other professions did not appear to be so strongly represented by a single gender, such as the trades, and there were some exceptions to the general rule. There was one instructor in the Applied Medicine Sciences who was male and even Jil Orra said he was “particularly adequate.” High praise from her.

Julian was slowly becoming more aware of “what was not said” as the tailor Mister Garak said. Also, _The Never Ending Sacrifice_ was helping him understand his new home inhabitants. It was dense and difficult for him to decipher, but his morning meal companions enjoyed discussing literature and the novel was a seminal work on Cardassia and archetypical of the repetitive epic genre of Cardăsda.

He had finished his morning meal and had no morning classes, so was fortuitously met with the tailor at the shop that Jil Orra had insisted on visiting last week.

“Ah, Mister Bashir, my newest customer,” Mister Garak said warmly with a formal bow. “I felt it was my duty to deliver these items personally, to ensure they fit your physique appropriately.”

“Mister Garak,” Julian replied, returning the bow, a stiff and quick motion with his head always up. “That is very kind of you to come all this way.”

“No trouble at all,” the tailor replied, holding up three long boxes. “I already needed to be in this part of the city for my other errand. Shall we do an impromptu fitting?”

“How did you know where to find me?” Julian asked, a bit distracted by the open stares of his classmates. He never had a visitor before.

“You are a companion of Miss Jil Orra, one of my most frequent customers, and therefore most likely a student of the Medical Sciences, and all of the students reside in Ba’aten Hall. It was easy to deduce you were a young doctor.”

“Aspiring doctor,” Julian corrected. “Did you attend Central University?”

“No, for the universe had other plans many years ago,” he said brightly. “And I doubt anything could be as satisfying as what I can do with some scissors and imagination.”

Julian led the tailor to the basement of Ba’aten Hall, keyed open his door, and waited for Garak to enter so they could proceed with trying on the clothes.

“That is kind of you,” he said pointedly, his eyes narrowing and head tilting slightly. “However, I would best remain out in the hallway.”

Julian frowned to himself, wondering if he had committed a faux pas of some sort. Ulani Belor and Jil Orra and the other women would gather in groups with him in each other’s quarters. Although he had only hosted once and all declared his rooms were too cool to be comfortable. It was Julian’s one saving grace as a Human: it was the only room on Cardassia that he didn’t melt in.

Perhaps Mister Garak was also easily chilled.

Julian shrugged out of his jumpsuit and opened the first box, a brilliant pink and orange package with layers of white tissue around a long grey jacket and a set of loose-fitting trousers.

When Julian exited wearing the first outfit, Garak’s eyes widened appreciatively and then he started to pace around him, his expression becoming more clinical.

“It is a mellune, very _chic_ ,” Garak explained, using the Federation Standard word. “Young men wear them with the sleeves rolled thus,” his fingers rolled cleverly around the fabric at Julian’s forearms, “and they may tuck in one of the scarves I gave you to provide an additional pop of color this season. This can be worn in the morning or as late as the second meal, but _never_ at an evening function.”

The next outfit: a tunic and overtunic in deep burgundy received the same treatment. “This is a classic design, one always has several overtunics available for any occasion. I’ve updated the collar to keep you modest, of course, but any young man would want to just,” Garak’s fingers pressed the closure down a few centimeters, “show off a bit, but still leave something to the imagination.”

Julian gaped, wondering if he’d been considered gouache in his Federation clothing. He was getting quite the education from the tailor.

“And how one wears the outer tunic says a great deal about the wearer. A grand old rhodrun would never dream of leaving the house with anything less than stiff and well laced but a young delrun, like yourself, might leave the outer tunic undone entirely.”

“Pokor malin çad,” Julian said, truly grateful for the advice.

“Pakariy,” Garak gently corrected. “You use the more formal address to those older, especially in thanks, unless you are sure they are in your employ as a servant or professional inferior or have agreed they are your equal.”

Julian blushed. “Pakariy malinzayn ça’ada. I’ve been offending people right and left since I’ve gotten here,” he said.

“Likely not as often as you think, I am sure. Most would be quite impressed you have made the effort to adopt our language and customs as best you can.”

“Speaking of customs,” Julian dashed back into his room and grabbed the solitary book upon his desk. “Thank you again. I found it most educational.”

Garak’s face lightened, a sly smile playing around his mouth. “Did you?”

“I’ve never read a Cardassian novel, and it was immensely helpful. Even today, someone remarked last night’s lecture felt like the ‘cries of Tullir’ and I understood the literary reference. It was a perfect recommendation for an off-worlder.”

“I am glad to hear you enjoyed it,” Garak said and then waited for a beat. “Ah, so you did not.”

“I didn’t say that,” the Human hedged.

“Your face is expressive, my dear doctor.”

“Aspiring doctor,” Julian corrected again, the words preceding doctor difficult to translate, but it sounded affectionate. “I just thought the story got a little redundant after a while. I mean the author's supposed to be chronicling seven generations of a single family, but he tells the same story over and over again. All of his characters lead selfless lives of duty to the state, grow old and die. Then the next generation comes along and does it all over again. None of his characters ever really come alive, and there's more to life than duty to the state.”

“Now, Mister Bashir, you best not say that too loudly,” he said, the enigmatic smile on his face, but a sharper expression in his eyes. “You never know who might be listening in the basements of university dormitories.”

Julian paused, surprised. “Are there government spies here?”

“The state has allies in us all,” Garak recited piously, the sharp look gone from his face. He picked up his tailors bag, making ready to leave. “Best not to speak as if your lack of appreciation for classic Cardassian literature could be misconstrued as something less than adoration for the state. Unfortunately, I am needed elsewhere, perhaps we may chat more about classic literature when I am done with your autumn pieces.”

“Good day, Mister Garak. And many thanks again for the book. You never said how much I owed you for the clothes,” he pointed out, surprised the issue had not come up yet.

“Why, Mister Bashir, I thought you were aware,” Mister Garak said, face full of surprise. “I received a message the day you left the shop, a secretary requested that I send my bill to an account in your name. They didn’t disclose the name of his employer, seemed to be a very private fellow. I assumed he was a relation of yours?”

“Oh.” Realization dawned. “Yes, yes. A dear friend, helping me here. That was kind of him to handle that for me.”

“Mister Bashir, you have more friends on Cardassia than you realize.”

“I suppose you are right.”

Julian escorted the tailor to the door, bid him a good day, and went about his business to get to the medical building before too many students had the choice seats in the surgery observation theater.

“Joo-lee-an, your garments have arrived already?” Ulani said, smiling appreciatively.

“Do I look appropriate for a Cardassian university student, finally?” he asked, a self depreciated smirk on his face. “I’m not going to end up on Lakariy’ane newvids for inappropriate dress?”

“Is that why the tailor was on campus today?” Jil Orra asked, her mouth pinched in intrigue.

“Mister Garak doesn’t deliver to you?” Julian asked, knowing Jil Orra was used to only the best in service and deference.

“Men and women cannot socialize together, even as a service, without a public escort,” Ulani explained, a little scandalized. “Mister Garak would need the House Mistress to escort him to a young lady’s quarters.”

“I’m male and haven’t needed the House Mistress during our study sessions,” Julian objected.

“You’re Human,” Jil Orra said dismissively. “It’s not like you’re a viable mate. You hardly count.”

“Oh,” Julian said, a little surprised such a distinction was necessary.

He wondered if every Cardassian felt thus.

> “I didn’t tell you about the packages that arrive today, did I?” Julian said, standing to fetch them. “The tailor sent me this,” Julian carried an armful of tunics and outercoats, leggings and stiff trews, each marked as to which pieces could be worn together. The materials were light, lighter than the jacket he had been sent home with, but rich feeling to the touch.
> 
> “I wouldn’t know a satin from a charmeuse, but I do like them. And they’re so light, which is a blessing because everywhere I go I must wear at least three layers!” Julian slipped off his tunic, revealing a gossamer undershirt so shear the skin beneath looked iridescent. “But they’re even more comfortable than the jumpsuits from home. I might learn to like Cardassian fashion.”

In his study, the tailor Garak watched the screen fade and then turn back on again. “Ke’dal, I do have one more question, before I sign off. I know you haven’t responded to any of my previous messages, but I wanted to know just one thing: are you the sort of person who wears an outer tunic open, or closed, or just a little bit open? You could respond by written message. It helps to try to imagine what you might look like.”

“You old fool,” Garak muttered into his hands, unable to erase the vision of those thin brown shoulders and long neck barely covered by the best organza money could buy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rhodrun - "elder" a very distinguished title  
> delrun - young unmarried male
> 
> mellune - Cardassian daywear, loose about the shoulders with bell sleeves meant to be rolled up to expose the wrists and forearms as permissible.
> 
> Pokor malin çad - you do a service, an expression of thanks, informal  
> Pakariy malinzayn ça’ada - you do a service, an expression of thanks, formal/for a superior
> 
> Gentle Readers,
> 
> I do love the start of a good slow burn with pining, don't you? walkandtalk


	5. The Infirmary

Infirmary

Central University

Lakariy’ane

Cardassia

> “Why am I even bothering to send you all these messages? You don’t reply, you probably don’t even listen to them. If you are, you’re probably getting a good laugh. I might as well send these courtesy of the nearest black star, for all the good it’s doing anyone. I’m glad you had your laugh at the sorry Human you stranded on Cardassia. Good riddance.”

“Hello, Ke’dal,” Julian said, his voice scratchy and pallor drained. “I’m torn between hoping you don’t read these messages and hoping you do but perhaps you haven’t gotten to the last one I sent. If you haven’t, please don’t read it. I’m sorry. I feel dreadful.” Julian started to cough violently. “Both emotionally and physically, as you can tell. I thought I was just a bit run down, but turns out I have Pilkot Flu. I didn’t realize something was wrong until it was almost too late. But in any case, I didn’t really mean what I said. I was feeling sorry for myself and apparently experiencing some Pilkot-associated mood swings.

“Physician heal thyself,” he said sarcastically, and then started another coughing fit. “It’s not a phrase in Cardăsda. Apparently medical staff and aspiring medical staff are treated very gingerly here. I’m in a private ward in the campus infirmary reserved for very important patients. This is the first time in days that I’ve had a spare minute to myself, and I’ve wanted to clear things up between us. I don’t mind so much that you don’t reply. Our one-sided conversations are important to me and even if you don’t care to listen or respond, know that I appreciate I have somewhere to send these to.

“In other news, I’m the first Human documented to contract Pilkot,” he continued brightly, immediately energized by the thought. “Doctor Tulme has asked me to co-write a paper on my experience with her. My first published medical paper before I’ve finished my second year. Can you imagine?”

\--

“Time to get up, Mister Bashir,” Doctor Tulme said, holding up a grav-bar and a pair of non-slip socks.

“I’m ready,” Julian assured her, reaching for the socks and grateful the doctor allowed him to struggle to put them on himself. He’d lost several kilos in weight and his vestibular system was not up to par just yet. Now that he was no longer contagious and finally in recovery, regular therapeutic walks were in order. Where the Federation would have likely prescribed twelve cc’s of declactovine and some time in a simulator, Cardassian framework was more holistic. One needed to feel the natural ground beneath one’s feet to achieve a natural recovery.

When he was ready, he gripped the grav-bar and eased out of the infirmary bed, trying to use the bar to assist in turning instead of bearing his full weight on it. His knees were shaky but not as bad as the night before, and he wasn’t breathless by the time they got to the end of the hallway. Several nurses and a respiratory therapist gave them friendly bows and morning greetings. Julian suspected he had become their favorite exotic patient.

He was just about to feel tired when they rounded a corner and ran into a most unexpected figure.

“Mister Garak,” Doctor Tulme greeted warmly with a quick bow.

“Doctor Tulme,” he returned and looked at her patient in surprise “and Mister Bashir! My goodness, are you ill?”

“Recovering from Pilkot Flu,” Julian explained.

“May I extend every wish for your speedy recovery. I had Pilkot Flu when I was your age. Nasty business,” he sympathized and turned to Tulme. “I hope you don’t mind, I took the liberty of bringing the samples you suggested.”

Doctor Tulme noticed Julian’s open curiosity. “Mister Garak is our primary local vendor for many of our medical textiles. I’m sure you’re aware, and your case is no exception, not all of our gown and environmental fabrics are appropriate for non-Cardassians.”

“How lucky Lakariy’ane is to have a tailor with so many off-world connections,” Julian said.

“Always happy to be of service to Cardassia and its medical staff and aspiring doctors,” Mister Garak replied. “No doubt you’ll be needing some specially tailored medical uniforms for Mister Bashir, when he is on the mend.”

“Certainly,” Doctor Tulme agreed, making Julian beam, nevermind the number of teeth he showed. One day he’d be wearing that doctor’s uniform.

Mister Garak bid them both a good day and just as he was about to turn around, stopped and turned back, holding out a thin box to Doctor Tulme. “I almost forgot, a courier was outside and had with her a package. I offered to drop it off to the ward.”

Tulme accepted it and read the card attached. “It’s for you, Mister Bashir.”

Julian’s eyebrows shot up. “For me?” He had only gotten a few kind messages from his classmates wishing him well and class notes. “Who would send something to me?”

“We’ll find out as soon as you get yourself back to bed, Mister Bashir,” Doctor Tulme chided, noting his draining color. “Breathe in through your nose, please. Nice and even.”

Julian offered Mister Garak a wobbly smile, said his goodbyes, and mentally steeled himself for the walk back to his room.

\--

“You sent me a riddle book,” Julian accused, still lying in his bed in his infirmary smock, looking delighted rather than affronted. “I asked for literature recommendations weeks ago and you sent me a Cardăsda _riddle book_. It’s quite a challenge for me, as the meaning changes with the diacritic marks, and I still struggle with some of the forms. I got the first story with some help from one of the orderlies, but the second one, the one about the two houses and one tree and three families, I’m still thinking about.”

Julian paused, holding the book to his chest as he sank deeper into the pillows. “Thank you. You didn’t need to send anything, but I think you wanted me to know that someone is listening and cares that I’m cooped up in this tiny wing of the infirmary with not much to do. Your kindness is a much-appreciated medicine.”

Julian gave a jaw-cracking yawn. “Excuse me. It appears I should be resting. I’ll let you know if I figure out the house riddle. Goodnight, my Ke’dal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Gentle Readers,
> 
> Lots of small updates or one bigger update? I'm publishing as I go along, I really don't have a stash of chapters!
> 
> Wishing you well, walkandtalk


	6. Wealth

Room 002, Ba’aten Hall

Central University

Lakariy’ane

Cardassia

> “Jil Orra asked how my parents died. Shame would likely be the correct answer, if it were true they were dead. I lied. I’m terrible at lying, but this one came easily. I had practiced that answer in my head should anyone ask: they died tragically together, an accident during an ion storm on Invaria II. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to talk about them to Jil Orra, of all people.”

Jil Orra was rich. Not just the rich that came from having a powerful Gul father in a society that valued its military strength above all else, she was the type of rich that Julian guessed wealthy people would aspire to be.

Her mother, Jil informed him, was of the Orra of the Rogarin Province, a family that had been in mining since the dawn of Cardassia. What was it that Julian’s mother did before she was tragically killed in that ion storm? And her family owned three vacation homes, including a small estate on the Morfan sea. She desperately wanted to go back to her cozy home there, but she was needed in Cardassia City for summer break. What was Julian doing for summer break? And after she graduated as a doctor she was to be installed as an advisor to the Second Order of the Cardassian military. Did Julian have a beau back in the Federation? Her intended was a Gul in the Ninth Order, touring Bajor. He would be installed as a Legate upon their marriage.

Julian was thankful that if he waited long enough, Jil usually found another thing to say about herself.

Ulani Belor was from more modest wealth. Her father was a glinn and weapons engineer with the Ninth Order, her mother an agricultural scientist. She had three older siblings: two brothers, married and living off-world, and one sister yet unmarried and living at home. She also had one younger brother and a grandmother who also lived in their home.

To Julian, she sounded like the richest woman alive. He told her so.

“You have no siblings?” Ulani asked, surprised, lingering over her çopup at dinner one evening. Julian shook his head ruefully. “Imagine, no nestmates. Not a single sibling trying to hog the stone baths or trying to embarrass you in front of the neighbors.”

“I always wanted a sibling, someone to play with as a child.” Nevermind that even as a child, no one wanted to play with him. Or could play with him, for years after his procedure. “At least some extended family, even a cousin.”

“You can have mine,” she said cheekily. “They would love you. Hard-working student, excelling in every class,” she teased. “And you _want_ to be a doctor.”

She stopped, a little startled by the words that came out of her mouth.

“You don’t?” Julian gently inferred.

“Subspace research was my first choice,” Ulani admitted stiffly. “But my parents wanted me to go into medicine. I’m the last daughter, you see.”

“I wanted to play tennis professionally,” he said, and then noticed Ulani’s expression. “A sport, a game of skill where two or four players try to move a ball over a net using rackets. But my parents wanted a doctor in the family.”

Ulani gave him one of her kind smiles. “I am sure they are proud of you, from The Great Stars.”

Julian nodded, for the first time in months feeling sadness instead of anger when he thought of his parents. “Yes, I’m sure they are.”

> My Ke’dal, I passed Molecular Analysis and Neural Pathway Induction Methods with a superior. Thought you would want to know. Yours, Julian
> 
> P.s. trying to improve my written Cardăsda, with the help of all the books you’ve sent. There is an old Human adage that doctors' handwriting is illegible. Can we pretend that is why my attempts are still very poor?

Garak allowed himself a small moment of pride for the young Human and steadfastly refused to think about what “yours” meant while fitting another debutante for the upcoming social season.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gentle readers,
> 
> Frequent small chapters wins! To put out 2 in one day is a treat for me. Thank you for reading, walkandtalk


	7. A Good Pair of Shoes

Aça’naça Hall

Central University

Lakariy’ane

Cardassia

> Dear Ke’dal, it is the eve of Zroumayn and I received your gifts. Thank you. I wasn’t aware until yesterday that families sent packages to remind students of home during the festivities of the social season. I thought that there wasn’t anyone who would know to send anything to me, so you can imagine my surprise when your package did arrive.
> 
> Seven real paper books is quite a luxury for any student. I’ve never read anything from Shoggoth. I look forward to our one-sided literature discussions.
> 
> I figured out the third riddle in the book, by the way. The answer is ‘neither of them’ isn’t it?
> 
> “Since there is no address I can send a gift in return, I will try to translate an old Terran riddle into Cardăsda:
> 
> A leader long ago had an advisor and the advisor made him angry. They brought the advisor forward and show them two folded pieces of paper and said, “I will let you decide your fate. On one paper is death, the other merely banishment. The one you choose will be your fate.”
> 
> If the adviser knew that death was on both papers, how could they escape death?
> 
> Do you know the answer?

Every well-bred Cardassian spent the month of Zroumayn in seemingly endless celebrations and events. It was the month that the militia would rotate out. It coincided with the harvest on the southern continent. And the day before Zroumayn, exams were held and most of the students could breathe a little and take a lighter load for a few weeks.

Many of his classmates were pouring over the public society calendars and announcements between labs and lectures, trying to strategize as best they could.

“Season-brain,” Ulani Belor called it when Julian mentioned everyone’s distraction during first meal. “Every delrun and delrie will want to be seen to their best advantage and at as many soirees as possible. It’s quantity over quality, I believe. Anything to see and be seen for a good marriage partner. My parents already invested so much into my elder siblings’ social seasons, and my elder sister is still unmarried. I’m trying to stretch my pocket-money to makeover some of this year’s tunics and dresses.”

Jil Orra huffed at his other side. “You’ll want to invest in a good pair of shoes,” she said wisely. “My last season, I could barely take a step for all the walking.”

The table erupted into uncharacteristic titters.

“Walking?” Julian asked, feeling the full weight of his naivete.

“When a dulrun or delrie has more than just a blossoming affinity, they may ask for a walk about the grounds. There is nothing inappropriate about it,” Jil said, sniffing.

“Depends who’s doing the walking,” Ulani whispered, sending the table into another round of covert laughter.

“In any case,” Jil continued, refusing to join in the merriment, “I’m glad that I won’t be spending Zroumayn exhausted. Really, Joo-lee-an, they should envy us. Trying to balance our courses and the expectations of the season is quite exhausting. My intended will be here for Zroumayn Rhakam, of course, but I can spend the rest of the month devoted to studying.”

Ulani merely gave her a polite smile, but when Jil wasn’t looking she inclined her head and squinted at Julian, a very Cardassian wink.

Jil wasn’t completely wrong: his classmates were very preoccupied with marriage. By Cardassian standards, they were the prime age for marriage. Employers wanted married, well-educated employees who would further the glory of Cardassia in their devotion to family and state. Childbearing diads were the example to aspire to, and any Cardassian who didn’t meet the archetype had few choices in life.

Julian appeared to be exempt from all these expectations. He was grateful.

Or he thought he was exempt until Ulani had cornered him before class.

“My elder sister is arriving today, and I was supposed to have a chauffeur and escort, but there are none to be had,” she fretted.

Julian agreed to escort Ulani to the transport station after class to meet her sister.

They took public transport together and she didn’t seem to mind any of the open stares from the other Lakariy’anes as they went about their errand. The campus population was starting to get used to their resident Human, but aside from the tailor, Mister Garak, a bookstore owner, and an apothecarist, he was an alarming figure.

They both knew the moment Ulani’s sister stepped off the transport. A tall woman dropped her luggage in the middle of the terminal and made a beeline to Ulani. “S’adik, bocot kiba’avzayn edek,” the woman said, grasping Ulani’s forearms and leaning her head against her sister’s in greeting.

“Bocot kiba’avzayn çad nou,” Ulani replied, radiating happiness in her small smile. “Gilora, this is Joo-lee-an Bashir. Joo-lee-an, my sister Gilora Rejal.”

Gilora Rejal returned Julian’s polite bow. The sisters shared the same upturned nose, but Gilora’s eyes and mouth were sharp as if she knew a secret you didn’t. “Mister Bashir, a pleasure to meet you.”

“Miss Rejal, kiba'avzayn” Julian returned, holding out his hands to relieve her of her bags, which she gladly did, linking arms with her little sister and lead them out of the transport station. Julian followed along, happy to allow the sisters their reunion.

“Oh, to be in Lakariyane again,” Gilora mused, taking in the busy market street. “It’s been ages since I’ve been to the city. You don’t suppose,” she flicked a glance at Julian, balancing the suitcases, “we could make a stop to pick up a few necessities?”

Ulani gave Julian a strained smile. “Of course,” Julian replied. “It isn’t any bother.”

“You are so kind,” Gilora said, brightening immediately. She looped her other arm in Julian’s, startling him a bit with the familiarity. “I haven’t seen my sister in many months, I need to take some time to spoil her.”

A few stops turned into many more stops than Julian had anticipated. Gilora’s family had paid to send her to visit Ulani, and the customary gifts needed to be purchased. Benat’U tea, spun glass, and funny little biscuits that his classmates liked that tasted like tar and honey to Julian. Several pens and data crystals were purchased for Ulani, “our future doctor,” Gilora said with a sincere small smile.

“Mister Bashir, you have been so very kind, and I keep imposing on your kindness,” Gilora said, after they exited the glass shop. “Ulani, do you see that,” she asked, nudging her sister and gesturing with her nod to the festooned shop window with a striking dress. “It’s exquisite, isn’t it?”

Ulani nodded in admiration, shooting Julian an apologetic expression.

“That’s Mister Garak’s shop,” Julian recalled.

“Hmmm,” she said, and walked in, leaving Ulani, Julian, three suitcases and several parcels to follow her.

“Good afternoon,” a voice came from bolts of fabric. “Mister Bashir, a pleasant day to you.” Mister Garak moved out behind his project to properly greet them. “How may I assist you and your companions?”

Gilora gave an assessing glance over the shop. “I came in to inquire about the dress in the window.”

Mister Garak immediately brightened. “Of course, the latest from Cardassia City. Synthetic oswell on the neck and sleeves, tourmaline embellishments along the bodice. Seven yards of fabric in the skirt.”

“So rich, perhaps too rich for this delrie’s wallet,” she said brightly, watching Ulani's envious expression. “Do you have any embroidery work?”

Mister Garak obligingly showed her the rows of buttons, beads, and a collection of embroidered stomachers that could be worn under an overdress. Julian still had no head for fashion or fabrics but found himself wandering around the shop, peering at fabrics and notions as one might look at ingredients at the apothecary's, letting Ulani, Gilora, and Mister Garak’s voice rush over him.

“May I infer you are now fully recovered, Mister Bashir?”

“What?” Julian asked, startled that the tailor had made his way behind him so quickly. “Oh, yes, thank you. I am fully recovered, thanks to Doctor Tulme and her team.”

“She is excellent, a pioneer internist, as I understand it,” Garak commented. “She spoke very highly of you, the last time I conversed with her about her medical-grade fabric needs. Have you considered apprenticing under her?”

“I-- no. I didn’t know it was allowed for second years.”

“In the years I’ve known Doctor Tulme, I would say she has an appreciation for anyone willing to work hard and lend a bright mind, as you have with the paper. A motivated second year would do well to pick up any extra work, and leave a positive impression.”

Julian blinked. “You know about our paper?”

“She mentioned it in passing,” Garak said dismissively. “I suppose the case is very interesting to those in the medical field. I, however, will stay amongst my fabric and ribbons. Speaking of which, I have an order for some of the most delicate waterproof challis, perfect for the upcoming rainy season.”

“What are you two whispering about, thick as the night in Bel’U’sa?” Gilora asked, coming up behind them, Ulani trailing behind.

“Clothing, madame,” Mister Garak said lightly. “I am proud to list Mister Bashir as my first Human customer. I am the envy of all the tailors in Lakariy’ane.”

“Hmmm,” Gilora said, immediately amused. “I am certain whatever you designed for Zroumayn Rhakam will be just as beautiful as your creation in the window.”

“Indeed--” Mister Garak said, while Julian said at the same time, “I’m not going.”

All three Cardassians stopped to stare at him. “The height of the social season?” Ulani said, confused and disappointed. “Julian, you can’t spend all your time studying. Every delrun and delrie in the city will be out.”

“It’s not really for me,” he said, starting to flush and feel embarrassed. “I’m not trying to find a--”

“No, of course not,” Gilora smiled, a sharp and knowing thing. “But, Mister Bashir, could we possibly trouble you more than we have?” Julian looked at her blankly. “I would be honored if you would escort me to the soiree. I don’t know a single soul, aside from Ulani. You wouldn’t mind, would you? You would be doing me a tremendous favor.”

Julian felt incredibly torn.

“I did take the liberty of creating an appropriate ensemble, ready for fitting,” Mister Garak said gently, his expression carefully neutral. “A fall collection order would not be complete without it.”

“Of course,” Julian said, feeling bowled over by Galora’s enthusiasm and Mister Garak’s accommodating nature.

Which is how he ended up in Mister Garak’s fitting room again, layers upon layers of fabric in deep azure and bronze.

“The cape can be worn indoors and out, but you’ll want to pin it back thus. And you will need some dress boots,” Garak said absently, taking a long look at Julian, adjusting and pinning the sleeves.

“I was advised to get good walking shoes for the season,” Julian said dryly.

Mister Garak’s hands fisted briefly in the fabric of the cape before he looked up to his Human. “Mister Bashir. Whatever do you mean?”

\--

“So, I’m going to at least one party,” Julian announced in his latest message. Garak could see by the angle of the screen the deep blue suit and stiff leather boots were laid out behind him. “Between working in Doctor Tulme’s lab and my course work, I won’t have time for more than one or two. Thankfully.”

“Do you have to go to Zroumayn Rhakam festivities? An esteemed rhodrun like yourself probably isn’t even bothered. I envy you, my Ke’dal.”

The tailor sputtered. Rhodrun, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zroumayn - a month in Cardassia that coincides with much of the post-harvest celebrations. Considered the most opportune time to search for a lifemate.
> 
> Zroumayn Rhakam - the eighth day of Zroumayn, considered a planet-wide holiday and height of the social season
> 
> delrun - young, unmarried male
> 
> delrie - young, unmarried female
> 
> rhodrun - elder, a very distinguished title
> 
> S’adik, bocot kiba’avzayn edek - I bring good tidings
> 
> Bocot kiba’avzayn çad nou - you bring good tidings
> 
> kiba'avzayn - Good tidings, generic greeting
> 
> s’adik - sister
> 
> Gentle readers,
> 
> The next 48 hours might be hard for me to post an update, so a bit of a longer one chapter today. Thank you for all the kind comments, this is so much fun to share! All the best to you, walkandtalk


	8. A Gaggle of Glinns

The Estate of the Honorable Legate Amarott

Lakariy’ane

Cardassia

> Hello Ke’dal. It’s me again. I think the most difficult part of being a student here isn’t the work, it’s the play,” Julian admitted when he was finally alone in his room, still a little drunk from the punch. “I’ve memorized the locations and functions of the nineteen lobes of the Cardassian brain and every particular of their lymphatic system and related parasitology. But I haven’t learned how to navigate a simple social gathering.
> 
> I wasn’t particularly good at those on Earth, either,” he admitted. “I hope you won’t think too poorly of me, or that you should have picked another to bestow your generosity.

“Don’t slouch,” Gilora whispered under her tense smile as Julian led her from room to room. Julian twitched his shoulders but felt oddly tall in the dress boots. “Just two more to go, and we’re free.”

“Gilora Rejal of I’kat’U and Peapod Bashir of Terra,” the automated prompter announced. Julian had schooled his wince considerably since the first time he heard the butchering of his name by synthesized voice tonight. _Peapod_ was an objectively bad pronunciation, the vowels were completely wrong.

Julian supposed the Cardassian gatherings made Vulcan gatherings look like a hootenanny.

No music. Certainly no dancing. Then there was the receiving line. Not a line of guests to meet the hosts, but rather a line of guests to meet the other guests. After they exchanged the most tepid of pleasantries with the small groups of singletons who had arrived before, they moved onto the next group. Ad nauseam. At least Gilora’s whispered observations about the guest kept him amused.

“They look like they are planning to create an attack formation and storm the unsuspecting delries,” she said under her breath, shooting a glance at the pack of glinns huddled in the corner. "It looks like one might break apart from the formation and make a daring run for the honor of Cardassia."

A few more bows and pleasantries exchanged, Julian steered them to the end of the hallway, the tiny automaton butler finally announcing Gilora and Peapod to the Legate and his wife. Their hosts stood on a dais overlooking the long hall as if rulers of a tiny kingdom overrun with crystal goblets and overdressed Cardassians.

“Human,” the grizzled rhodrun said before they could offer their gratitude for the beautiful party and hospitality, his face already tinged with blue from his cup of deep blue kanar. “I’ve never met a Human before.”

“Yes you did,” his wife objected. “That Ambassador in ‘59?”

“Spock. And he was half-Human,” he objected, spitting as he talked.

The Legate’s wife nodded, remembering. “Yes, I suppose he was. Are you enjoying our fair Cardassia?”

“The city is beautiful,” Julian politely enthused. “But I haven’t had any time to see beyond it.”

“That is a travesty. The mountains and rivers of Cardassia are the best in the quadrant,” the Legate wheezed.

“I shall endeavor to see it,” Julian promised, and was relieved when Gilora bodily drug him away from the dais and to the buffet tables.

“Freedom,” Gilora said, grabbing two flutes of kanar and handing one over.

“What now?” Julian wondered.

“We’re here for the show,” Gilora said lightly. “We find a comfortable chair not too far from the kanar and watch the spectacle and try to keep an eye on Ulani.”

“You aren’t…” Julian trailed off, spreading his hands around him, suggestive.

“What?” she replied drolly. “Looking for a suitable delrun of suitable means? Not tonight, Mister Bashir. Tonight is for Ulani.”

Ulani, who had arrived with several of her other classmates, was already conversing with a trio of delruns Julian recognized from earlier. It was the choice of colors and very so slightly exposed collars that denoted their unmarried status, he finally inferred. Cardassian subtlety struck again.

Ulani was wearing a sleek looking olive dress lined with wispy colluk feathers. Gilora had pronounced the look “sweet” and insisted on lending her some earrings before she left. Julian got the distinct impression that Gilora found her younger sister too gentle and amiable to navigate the season without trusted supervision.

Perhaps she was right.

“What do you think?” he asked, politely gesturing to the scene unfolding. One in particular was enthusiastically engaging in her conversation without much interest from Ulani.

“I don’t know,” Gilora said slyly. “Why don’t you do some reconnaissance and let me know how it’s going. I’m famished.”

Julian obligingly stood to retrieve some horderves and make his way around the fringes of the throng around Ulani. 

“Thank you, but...” Ulani could be heard saying to the attentive delrun. “I don’t think so.”

“But the room is warm,” he returned. “And I saw the most beautiful cantatha’a tree in the garden.”

“I don’t think so,” she demurred, looking anywhere but at the glinn, who was now pressing closer to her. Julian was now fully alarmed, abandoning his plate of cake and berries to head over to Ulani to see what was the matter.

“Now, what could I possibly say, a’vese, to convince you to partake in the night air with me?” her unwanted companion said, reaching for her elbow.

“She’s not interested,” Julian said sternly.

All three men stopped and stared at him, surprised. The glinn who was the focus of Julian’s anger sneered down at him, beige and blue in the face. “My mistake. I didn’t realize she was dragging garbage around with her.” Without another word, he departed, leaving a wake of stares behind him.

“Oh, Joo-lee-an,” Ulani whispered, her face horrified. “How could you?”

Julian took a step back, aghast. “I-- I thought--”

“You didn’t think,” Gilora hissed, coming up behind them. “Ulani, please don’t--”

But Ulani raced out into the night, Gilora trailing after her.

\--

“I don’t know what to do,” Julian said, his face in his hands, misery in the slump of his shoulders. “I’m open to any advice, Ke’dal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cardassian ranking:
> 
> Legate - rank above a gul
> 
> Gul - below a legate, above a glinn
> 
> Glinn - a rank below gul
> 
> a’vese - sweet one
> 
> Gentle readers,
> 
> Never fear. Garak has some ideas.
> 
> Have a wonderful weekend, walkandtalk


	9. The Tailor's Assistant

Lakariy’ane Clothier: Apparel & Service for Any Occasion

Lakariy’ane

Cardassia

> I have taken on some brief employment as an assistant to a local tailor. I won’t bore you with the details.

“Mister Bashir, good day to you,” Mister Garak greeted from his table, mid-cut into a swath of fine russet fabric. “How might I assist?”

Julian glanced around, a little pensive. “Do carry gloves? Ladies’ gloves?”

“But of course,” the tailor replied, his face schooled into a more bland expression, opening a shallow drawer, displaying a dozen gloves of tatted lace, satin, and leather so fine it was translucent.

Julian looked down at the display wondering which gloves were worn for which occasion. Thankfully, Mister Garak interrupted his silently bewildered contemplation. “A gift, I assume?”

Julian nodded. “My friend, Miss Ulani Belor.”

“I didn’t realize that the two of you were… romantically entangled.”

Julian snapped his head up. “We are not. I only wished to give her a gift.”

“Ah yes,” Mister Garak said, gently closing the drawer with a definitive click. “I believe, if you wish to send a small bauble in friendship, you had best look to other corners of my shop. A gift of gloves on Cardassia can only be seen as an invitation of the most intimate kind.”

Julian flushed. “No, I don’t intend anything like that.” He paused, weighing his current embarrassment against further embarrassment. “I don’t mean to impose, but might I trouble you for some advice? I don’t know who else to ask.”

“I pride myself on discretion, Mister Bashir,” he replied earnestly, hand over his heart.

Julian relayed the entire story of the night previous, absolutely miserable and still confused by the entire exchange.

“She said no,” Julian repeated. “She was clearly not interested.”

“Oh, Mister Bashir,” Mister Garak said sadly, “whatever do they teach at that fancy University? Have you ever read the great sonnets of the Velu’U age, the ballads of old Lakariy’ane?”

“Can’t say that I have,” he admitted ruefully.

“If you don’t make a study of some of the less… explicitly documented customs of your host world, you might end up inadvertently ruining more than just a perfectly courtly advance.”

“I missed Cardassian Romance 101 on the course list.”

Mister Garak shook his head ruefully. “I forget how single-minded young scholars can be. First, we will find you an appropriate token of your attrition.”

“And then?”

“Then we will ensure you can hold your own at the next soiree.”

Mister Garak insisted that Julian take the dress in the window, the one that Gilora had been eyeing. “A dress is a perfect platonic gift, one I am certain Miss Rejal had intended to bestow upon her own sister. Extravagant, but fitting, given the extent of your very public social blunder.”

“If it was too rich for Miss Rejal’s purse, it certainly is for a student,” Julian objected. He had been given a modest stipend by his Ke’dal, now nearly depleted as they were near the end of the year.

“Your kind benefactor has an open line of credit with me,” the tailor hinted.

“No,” Julian said firmly. “It’s my duty to pay it, I can’t ask him to cover that as well. Perhaps I can...” Julian struggled to think of something.

“Everything is open for negotiation. It just so happens I am in need of some assistance,” Mister Garak offered suddenly. “The season, you know, is a tailor’s busiest time. I have several deliveries today, all urgent, and could use the help. Your services for the dress?”

The Human perked up immediately. “I would be very obliged to assist you.”

“Likewise,” he replied, a small smile on his face. “This way, Mister Bashir. The best dressed of Lakariy’ane await.”

\--

Mister Garak piled Julian with several parcels and garment bags and led him out to the street to take a public transport.

“We’ll be headed to the Old District,” he announced. “Newcomers to the city often enjoy observing the front gardens of the grand homes there. Some of the domesticated flora are among the oldest in the region.”

The Cardassian obviously loved his city. As they traveled this way and that, dropping off packages, trousers, and gowns, the tailor had a seemingly never-ending reel of interesting facts about the landlocked municipality. Between fittings, he entertained his Human companion with stories of the political scheming of Cardassians in centuries past, the effects of which still observable in the little details of the architecture of state buildings.

“Cardassia City may be the epicenter of culture and fashion,” Mister Garak conceded, “but the Old District of Lakariy’ane is unparalleled in charm, and the Central University is its jewel.”

Julian enjoyed himself immensely. It wasn’t until the second to last parcel was delivered, a matching set of outer tunics to a pair of brothers, that he realized it was well past the second meal.

“My dear scholar, you have been exceedingly patient,” Mister Garak exclaimed, leading them to a tea shop at the top of the hill in the Old District. “Please allow me to treat you to aklun.”

Aklun, the midday repast reserved for socializing, was something Julian rarely saw or participated in at Central University. Occasionally his classmates would make a picnic of it, lounging casually with tea and small snacks outside, but the event was generally reserved for those who had leisure time.

The pair were whisked away into a quiet corner, Mister Garak taking an extra moment to glance around at their surroundings before adjusting his chair at the most advantageous angle for observing.

“This is a treat,” Mister Garak said after placing an order for tea, sweets, and savories. “I haven’t had a chance to leave the shop and partake in a bit of enjoyable company in weeks.”

“I’m glad to be of service and very grateful for your offer to let me work for the dress,” Julian replied.

The tailor tsked. “Now that is part of your current conundrum, Mister Bashir. The art of conversation on Cardassia is delicate, subtle. It is a symphony of strings, not a brass band. Why, anyone could easily infer that you were in debt to me.”

“Is it a secret?”

“The question you must ask on Cardassia is: was it meant to be broadcasted for all to hear?” the tailor returned, a clever curve in his lips. “Even the walls have ears and our words are not meant for walls,” he recited quietly. “Rather, you would simply agree and thank me for the company.”

“Thank you for inviting me.”

Mister Garak nodded. “Now, take a look around the room, and tell me what you see.”

Julian craned his neck, looking at the dozen or so other Cardassians he could see conversing and sipping their tea. There was a father and his three young children at one table. Two rhodruns at another table nibbling and casting glances at the table next to them were a younger couple sat conversing. Two more tables of couples, all engaged in conversation.

When Julian reported, Mister Garak tsked again. “Look again. What do you notice about the posture, the expressions, the clothing.”

“The first couple is courting,” Julian tried again. “But I’m only guessing because the pair of rhodruns are sending them death glares.”

His companion smirked. “Yes, insightful. They are still in the early stages of their courtship. Perhaps last night they took a stroll at a party and agreed to meet with their chaperones, the two grandmothers you see. I would hazard to guess they are two families that know each other, as they’ve been allowed to sit at separate tables.

“Now the couple to their left are further in their courtship journey,” he said, gesturing discreetly with his chin. “Do you see her hands, how they are placed on the table? Still wearing gloves, very proper, but allowing the inside of her wrists to show to her companion.”

“Flirting?”

“Shamelessly,” he confirmed. “Of course, if he was pursuing his interest, she would never say a thing to encourage him, nothing so direct. A demure suggestion that one’s mind had not been made up, all the while flashing wrists and looking away. A strong gaze or a single ‘no’ would end the entire scene, but in this way, one might encourage a partner to prove their suit and continue the dance of courtship. Repetition with variety is key here, scholar.”

Julian thought back to Ulani’s posture, averted gaze, and words. “I see my blunder more clearly.”

Mister Garak brightened. “Excellent. We’ve been most productive today, wouldn’t you say?”

Julian agreed and then pondered a new thought. “What would they see if they were looking at us?”

“A confirmed bachelor entertaining a mysterious yet impeccably dressed University student,” Mister Garak said definitively, smiling into his cup.

\--

That evening, Julian arrived at third meal at Ba’aten Hall with a large pink and yellow box for all his classmates to observe. He had made a public blunder, his apology must be public as well. These were words for the walls to whisper about later. Ulani’s reputation depended on it. He found her at their usual table, Gilora and Jil flanking her side, the pair knowingly staring at him in open rebuke.

“Miss Belor,” Julian started formally, a splayed hand over his heart, the other extending the box. “I am profoundly sorry for my behavior last night. I do hope you will forgive me.”

“You were very rude,” Ulani said, her gaze fixed on the table.

“That is true,” Julian said, pushing the box closer to her. “I was also boorish to your companion.”

“And you should have not put your nose where it was not wanted,” Ulani continued.

“Also true,” he agreed, still holding the box out a few centimeters further, unflinching as he had practiced earlier.

“I suppose I can see what you brought,” she said, allowing Julian to set the box in front of her and waited on tenterhooks as she slowly lifted the lid.

“Oh, Joo-lee-an,” Ulani gasped when she lifted the lid, taking the dress out of the box in her enthusiasm. “It’s beautiful.”

Julian felt relieved, knowing he was forgiven. Gilora gave him an assessing look. “That was good of you, but it must have cost you dearly,” she muttered, enjoying her sister’s appreciation.

“No, not too much,” Julian said. “Just time and a bit of enjoyable company.”

> Just my second and last soiree of the season tomorrow,” Julian declared, wrapped up in his nightclothes. “I couldn’t beg out of that one, the University hosts it. I think that will be enough for me until next year. 
> 
> The University closes for a break soon. I’m not sure what I will do with myself. What do you think I should do? Perhaps there are other tradesfolk who are looking for assistant/couriers?
> 
> There’s the bell. Goodnight, my Ke’dal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gentle Readers,
> 
> There is no AO3 Warning: slow burn: glacial Garak-induced pace of romance, wooing by subterfuge.
> 
> I hope you are okay with that. Buckle in.


	10. Foolish Truths

Central University

Lakariy’ane

Cardassia

Julian arrived at the festivities with his entire medical cohort, as was tradition. Clusters of students, all currently segregated by department, milled around as the soiree was still in its early hours. Faces he hadn’t yet found a reason to put a name to, all dressed in their finest for the Central University event of the season. Central University could not hold all its guests in a single building, so the event spilled out into the stately quadrangle of campus. What Cardassia’s moons could not illuminate, faux fire torches bathed the guests in orange light under gold linen tents.

They had made their way through the initial greeting line and then to the line to greet their professors and house staff, the chaperones of the event. A few favorite professors and clinical staff greeted him warmly, for Cardassians, and Julian felt a warm feeling he hadn’t felt in a very long time: belonging.

As a credit to Mister Garak’s advice and tutelage, he studiously avoided looking at anyone’s wrists, making too much or too little eye contact, and attempted to speak as much as possible about nothing in particular. It worked very well on Jil Orra’s intended, Gul Keset of the Ninth Order, who was much more interested in Federation specifications of torpedo bays (of which Julian knew nothing, a true disappointment). Nevertheless, Jil appeared beside herself in happiness and spent the rest of the night shepherding her Gul around the quadrangle to be seen by anyone who would spare the couple a glance.

Ulani and Gilora had found themselves surrounded by the group of glinns from the other night and Julian had taken it upon himself to maneuver as far away from their exchange as possible, but not before inclining his head and squinting at Ulani, a covert wink between friends.

A few dozen bows and exchanges later, Doctor Tulme found him standing by himself near the canapes.

“Enjoying yourself, Mister Bashir?” she asked.

“It’s a beautiful party,” he hedged.

“I hate these too,” she confided. “However, half of a good doctor’s work never happens beside a treatment bed.” Julian perked up at that, intrigued. “On Cardassia, one must know how to advocate for one’s patients. Good works alone is not enough to get rewarded.” She looked around and spotted someone of interest, gesturing that Julian should follow her, approaching the lone Cardassian from behind.

“Mister Garak, how good of you to come to our event. Mister Bashir, may I present one of the university’s distinguished benefactors, Mister Garak.”

The tailor was dressed all in a deep jade suit and a long tunic, hints of flashy purple around his collar in the torchlight. His face was schooled into an expression of polite acknowledgment, very different than the warm smiles of yesterday.

“We’ve met,” Julian said warmly, ready to share their adventure of the day before.

“Of course, from the infirmary,” Doctor Tulme remembered, turning to address Mister Garak. “I hadn’t realized you had taken an interest in--”

“Yes, there’s never a stranger in my line of work,” he said brightly. “Mister Bashir, a pleasure to see you this evening.” Doctor Tulme gave Garak an odd look.

“I-- yes, same,” Julian stumbled, surprised the tailor had not mentioned that he would be attending tonight. Were they to assume but a passing familiarity? Julian had hoped to call Garak a friend, after the kindness he had extended. What was the protocol?

“Mister Bashir is one of the top contenders for the department’s Sentec Award,” Doctor Tulme said.

Garak’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “What an honor to be considered.”

Julian flushed, a bit embarrassed at the attention. “Yes, it is.”

“Mister Garak’s generosity has allowed us to expand our program, including the Sentec Award,” Doctor Tulme explained. Julian was surprised, and realized he should not have been: Mister Garak had layers that Julian hadn’t noticed. Medical school patron was one of them.

“Just an ordinary citizen happy to support Cardassian excellence in medicine,” he smiled benignly.

Doctor Tulme looked poised to move the conversation along when a movement caught her eye. “If you would excuse me,” she muttered and made her way swiftly across the lawn to address a young couple sitting alone on a bench.

“Was someone showing too much wrist?” Julian asked, watching the scene unfold unfavorably for the delrie in question.

“If only. She had her hand on his shoulder,” Mister Garak replied under his breath. “Brazen, but I imagine the student population is fit to bursting with youthful energy, being so close to the end of the term.”

Grateful to be talking about anything other than courtship, which was starting to weigh on even him, Julian took advantage of the change of conversation, hoping to get some sense of the tailor’s odd behavior.

“Yes, I suppose we are all grateful for a break. I’m looking forward to seeing more of Lakariy’ane.”

“You’re staying over the summer?” the tailor asked, surprised.

“There’s nothing for me on Earth, so it seems silly to go,” Julian half-lied unsuccessfully, but Garak didn’t press him.

“Lakariy’ane is almost desolate in the summer,” Garak supplied. “Most of its population goes to the seaside or mountains to get out of the rain.”

“I’ll have to occupy myself somehow,” Julian said, trying to be nonchalant in his shrug, knowing he was the brash brass band, not the subtle woodwinds of Cardassian conversation as Garak had instructed. “Perhaps I could spend some of the summer working off the rest of the dress?”

\--

Garak didn’t miss the hopeful glint in those soft, warm eyes. If he was being honest (and he wasn’t, as a rule) he had gone to great lengths to try to encourage the question.

And oh, it would be so easy. 

Garak could almost see it unfolding before him: hours spent in his shop, cozy tea breaks, perhaps escorting him to see the opera or to one of the nouveau drama productions under the guise of more Cardassian culture enrichment. With smiles and well-placed compliments, they might have a brief summer dalliance that would be over before the cantatha’a stopped blooming. Julian might look back on the summer fondly, remembering an old tailor who helped him get through a very lonely time.

He couldn’t do that, not to his Human.

“I believe, my dear scholar, that we are now even,” Garak said gently, although the words cut him to say it. He was rewarded with a grateful smile. “Now, if you would please excuse me, my duty to the university is now complete, and I can leave you young delruns and delries to your well-earned festivities.”

He bowed and made a speedy exit to his shop. Up the nine creaky steps to his flat and into his study, a glass of kanar in hand, tugging his frippery off as he went.

Out of a habit formed over the past months, he opened his messages and couldn’t help but play the one that came in the night before, to see the young man’s earnest and open face, his soft jaw and slender neck, the warm eyes.

_“The University closes for a break soon,” his Human said, dressed in the nightclothes he had tailored himself, lapis Supima cotton, cool to the touch as Garak remembered. “I’m not sure what I will do with myself. What do you think I should do? Perhaps there are other tradesfolk who are looking for assistant/couriers?_

_“There’s the bell. Goodnight, my Ke’dal.”_

Garak stared at the black screen for a beat, cursed himself again for his foolishness, and knew what he had to do.

> Dear Mila…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gentle Readers,
> 
> You didn't think it would be that easy, did you?
> 
> wishing you all the best and thankful for the kudos and comments, walkandtalk


	11. Morfan

Village of Falthu'U

Morfan Province

Cardassia

My Ke’dal,

Thank you for arranging room and board over the summer in Morfan. The owner of the little estate, Mila, is very kind and seems happy to have someone around. She promised she would point out some of the landmarks tomorrow.

My room is the old servant quarters, a hetusa, she called it, or a tiny cottage behind her kitchen. It’s just room enough for a bed, a desk, and a wide window to look out into the sea.

It is perfect. Thank you.

\--

My Ke’dal,

Have you been to Morfan? It has a sea that’s as smooth as glass in the summertime and bluer than any ocean on Earth. The beach is rocky in most places and where we are, a fair walk from the village, there isn’t much to see or do except to go to the beach or walk around the salt marshes.

Mila is not a great cook and neither am I, but we both enjoy simple meals. She spends most of her day puttering around the beach and she weaves. She has these beautiful tapestries and blankets and a large loom in the parlor that makes clack-clack-clacking sounds that can be heard from the road.

On most days there’s a young delrie from the village that will come and bring us fresh produce and bread or does the odd job. She is much younger than I, but likely the closest in age to me for several kilometers. Mila said most of the working-aged folks have moved to the city.

For now, it suits me just fine. I’ve never known a place could be so quiet and peaceful.

\-- 

My Ke’dal,

I’ve become a gardener, or at least an apprentice gardener. Mila has a huge garden, but it’s a bit overgrown. She’s not much interested in it, but said I could do as I pleased. Mila said she spent most of her life taking care of her old employer’s garden, and now doesn’t have much time or energy for it.

Reiga, the girl who brings the groceries, is showing me how to coax the tendrils of the creeping vines to go around the window of my tiny cottage, to provide a little shade in the heat of summer. I’ve only a couple of months, but the satisfaction of leaving this tiny little patch of earth a little better than I found it is supremely satisfying.

My father, who thought himself a landscape architect, would show me his park sketches sometimes. I think I remember some of the theory behind the art and Mila has an extensive library with two shelves devoted to horticulture. She said I could borrow anything I wanted. I also saw some medical texts, albeit a bit dated, and several of Federation history. I asked her about it and she said she inherited the house from the former owner, a real ak’utno, and hasn’t opened most of the books out of superstition.

She also warned me not to go into the basement of the house. Also superstition. But maybe also live booby traps. Like most Cardassians, I cannot tell if she was joking.

\--

My Ke’dal,

I’ve discovered the most curious thing, in one of the library bookshelves, a row dedicated to star charts and old maps. I was flipping through them and I found the most surprising thing in little child scrawl on the maps of ancient Cardassia:

“Property of E. Garak. Do not touch or be vaporized.”

I asked Mila about it and she told me that a little boy used to live here many years ago. What do you think the chances are E. Garak is Garak of the tailor shop? Stranger coincidences have happened.

P.s. I’ve planted wencot seeds. They won’t be up for months and months, but Reiga promised these will produce beautiful butter-yellow blooms. Attached is my sketch of my fledgling bit of garden

P.p.s. Ulani Belor sent me a message today, apparently Gilora chased away her only suitor of the season and it’s a huge uproar in the house. The term cannot start soon enough, according to Ulani.

\--

Tonight was my last night on the shores of Morfan. I’ll be sad to leave Mila and this little cottage. She took Reiga and I foraging for shellfish and then we roasted them on the beach as a farewell. I’ve never tasted anything more delicious. She taught us to sing some old sea-songs, ones that Reiga and other villagers used to hear has the knees of their rhodruns about the ships that used to sail in and out of the harbor.

I’ll be happy to get back to the University, but I don’t think I’ve ever had the sheer luxury of such a break. I thank you for that pleasure, my Ke’dal. Goodnight.

P.s. I think my Cardăsda writing has gotten better, don’t you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hetusa - living quarters away from the family home, servants quarters  
> ak’utno - evil bastard


	12. A'vese

Still in the basement room

Ba’aten Hall

Central University

Lakariy’ane

Cardassia

> Behold! I am now a third year AND the Sentec Award recipient. Well, co-award holder with Jil Orra but I won’t let that spoil my moment of triumph.
> 
> I’ve decided to specialize in internal medicine and pediatrics. Are you surprised? Because I am. The Julian at Starfleet Medical would have wanted something much more cutting edge and exciting, but after a year on Cardassia… this planet has changed me a bit. Not too much, I hope. But I think I know a little better about what I want out of life.
> 
> There’s the last bell. They are the one part of University I didn’t miss. Goodnight, my Ke’dal. I hope to make you proud this year.

His third year was busier than ever. In the traditional Cardassian model he was apprenticing under Doctor Tulme and two of her other colleagues full time. If he wasn’t in class, he was in a clinic or ward trying to keep us with his mentors as best as he could. The first three weeks of school were a maddening pace, but also thrilling. He was grateful he shared one mentor with Ulani Belor, a familiar face in a sea of unfamiliar credentialed medical staff who had little time or patience for the newly minted third years.

As soon as he got a break in his schedule, he knew where his first stop needed to be.

“Mister Bashir, what a pleasant surprise,” Mister Garak said from outside his shop. “What brings you down to the market street?”

“You, actually,” he said, and looked at what brought the tailor outside his shop. “What happened?”

“We had some violent summer storms while the University was closed,” he replied solemnly. “The yearly renovation and repair is simply par for the course of doing business in Lakariy’ane.”

Julian looked at the sign and display, carefully stripped of the little baubles and brass filigree but Mister Garak didn’t say anything more. “How might I assist you today?”

Julian held out a satchel of neatly folded medical apprentice uniforms. “I’ve been told none of these are decent on me. Can you help?”

“Ah, too right. This way, young scholar,” the Cardassian replied, gesturing into his shop.

Julian was ushered straight into the dressing room and told to change, while Mister Garak readies his small bag of notions and supplies. When he saw Julian in his uniform he immediately grimaced, taking in his narrow shoulders peeking out and draping over his collar and back.

“What a terrible color,” he muttered. “There’s utilitarian and then there’s unsightly. You look…”

“Like gangrene,” Julian supplied cheerfully. “Or the lungs during the third stage of Uvoxx Syndrome?”

“Washed out,” Mister Garak said delicately. “But there’s nothing that can be done about that. This collar and hem, however, I imagine I can have them ready for you next week. Just…” he gestured at the offending uniform “leave them on the rack.”

Mister Garak drew the curtain around the fitting room, leaving Julian in privacy as he quickly stripped out of his medical uniform and back into his regular clothes. “Will you be wanting anything else, Mister Bashir? A fall collection, perhaps?”

Julian pondered the question while jumping back into his trews. “I thought I just got one last year.”

He could clearly hear an affronted huff. “Styles come in _seasons_. You are a year out of date. Every delrun in the city is sporting stiffer collars, and the moment I saw them, Mister Bashir, I thought of you. I believe you might be my only client that could pull it off.”

Julian poked his head out, still bare-chested. “Funny you should say that. I’ve had nothing but mildly insulting comments about my neck from some of my patients.”

Mister Garak paused, looking like he had swallowed his tongue. “Surely not.”

“Oh, yes. Smooth-neck, being the most common. Not very creative.”

“No,” the tailor replied faintly. “I would guess the uniform is not helping.”

“I suppose you are right. So I can pick them up next week?”

“Oh, I just remembered I had an order cancel,” Mister Garak said, distracted. “If you can wait in the shop, I can have the first few out to you today.”

“Yes, thank you,” Julian said, grateful, handing his uniform over to the tailor, who started to lay the offending surcoat on the table and got to work immediately.

Not knowing what else to do, he hopped up on a stool opposite the tailor.

“I spent the summer in Morfan,” Julian said suddenly, a certain mystery weighing in his mind for weeks.

“Beautiful seaside,” Mister Garak said agreeably, trying to fold and refold the collar.

“You’ve been?”

“Not in many years.”

“The woman I boarded from, Mila, had a house with something that had your name on it, I believe.”

“Mila?” Mister Garak repeated, considering. “I might have known a Mila in my youth. But it's a very common name.”

“Mila Leol,” Julian added, trying and failing to hide his excitement. “She was a housekeeper in a house outside Falthu’U.”

“A flagstone and glass path up to the door?” he asked. Julian nodded. “Yes, I believe I spent some of my youth at the house. A relative of mine owned it decades ago, as I recall. You say Mila is still there?”

“Inherited it,” Julian supplied and launched into all the things that he enjoyed about the home and the beaches. Mister Garak listened, occasionally adding a childhood memory or two.

“I do remember that book of maps,” the Cardassian confided. “When I was young I loved stories of adventure. I wanted to be an explorer, like the sailors of ancient Cardassia, and find new lands.”

“Like Tozo Brint, from the song,” Julian remembered. “Mila taught me some of the old sea-songs before I went.”

Mister Garak smiled and nodded and sang in a startlingly gentle tenor

_“And she sailed over sea_

_Until there were no more seas_

_And sailed through the rivers_

_Until no more be_

_And then climbed o’er mountains_

_And into every valley_

_Though she never found me.”_

“I appreciate the little _stroll down memory lane_ ,” Mister Garak said, briefly switching to Federation Standard. Julian mentally jolted, it had been almost a year since he heard his mother tongue. “It has been such a long time since I’ve thought about that little house in Falthu’U.”

“You should go visit,” Julian suggested. “I'm sure Mila would be happy to see you again. I’d be curious to hear if it has changed any.”

“You never know,” Mister Garak evaded. “But on that note, my dear scholar, I am pleased to inform you that you shall be appropriately, albeit unfortunately, attired.” Julian gratefully accepted the bundle of newly tailored surcoats and trousers. “I’ll expect you back here soon to place an order for an updated wardrobe.”

“Wouldn’t want to disappoint the fashionable upper crust of Lakariy'ane infirmaries and sick wards.”

Mister Garak replied with a tight smile. “Indeed. Good day, Mister Bashir.” 

\--

As soon as his shop door closed with a click, Garak leaned back against his counter and looked up to the ceiling. A morning that was supposed to be spent quickly repairing his storefront became upended by one Human and his elegant shoulders. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one to take notice.

Smooth-neck. A’veseasana in Cardăsda, a play on words, a gentle ribbing and flirtatious joke blending “sweetheart” with “smooth-neck.” Images of infirmary wards full of eligible delries flirting with the young scholar-doctor swam before his eyes.

“You can’t be jealous,” Garak reasoned with himself. “You were the one who sent him away.”

Away, but not too far. Still under the protection of Mila and in his childhood home, no less. Soon, he would blink, and Julian would graduate. 

What then?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A'vese - sweet one  
> A’veseasana - very literally translated with no context, smooth-necked one. Not inherently rude, just an observation
> 
> Gentle Readers,
> 
> Inspired by some of your kind comments.  
> Also: Garak singing. I imagine him having a wonderful singing voice.
> 
> Also: I thought this would be a 12K story. It is not. Because I have to make some room to tell you what is happening to Gilora and Garak is taking his sweet time at wooing. Intrigue ahead!
> 
> Thank you and have a wonderful day, walkandtalk


	13. Kensh'U

Cardassia City

Cardassia

> My Ke’dal,
> 
> Next week is Kensh’U, the Cardassian festival of orchids. Only celebrated every seven sun-cycles, I’m told it's one of the more grand experiences on the planet. The entire university is letting out for a short holiday and while I had originally planned to put my name down as relief staff for the clinic, Ulani Belor insisted I come with her and Gilora Rejal to Cardassia City.
> 
> Gilora will come here to then escort us to an aunt’s home to celebrate. Apparently, even Gilora was likely to find a partner during Kensh’U, as it bestows luck and fertility to all who celebrate. She promised even I would find someone, if only for a brief flirtation. If you don’t mind me saying, after a year and a half of living like a monk, this is exactly what this doctor-to-be ordered. You remember being young once, don’t you?

“Oh, Mister Garak,” Gilora enthused, smoothing out the folds of her heliotrope dress. “You really work wonders.”

“I can only enhance what is there, Miss Rejal,” Mister Garak flattered goodnaturedly, allowing his customer some more time with the holo mirror while Julian and Ulani watched on in fond exasperation.

“There was a reason I came here straight from the station, didn’t I say so, Mister Bashir? I knew I had to buy myself at least one gown from Mister Garak’s shop before we left.”

“For all the good it did,” Ulani muttered, neck turning dark grey in embarrassment.

“Three suitors at once,” Gilora said. “Three! Perhaps that dress worked too well, for they all decided not to bicker amongst themselves and all declined to offer to visit our home.”

Ulani flushed deeper. It was a sore spot all summer to have three glinns stringing her along.

“I would have been proud to have at least one honor killing attributed to my craftsmanship,” Mister Garak said, making Ulani laugh and lightened the mood in the shop tremendously. 

“I’m pleased you were able to stop by before I closed for the holiday,” the tailor idly, holding out a lace cape edged in amethyst and heliotrope for Gilora to try on.

“How are you spending the holiday?” Julian asked.

“I have business in Cardassia City,” he shared. “Several suppliers will be headed to its fashion district, and it sounds like quite the opportunity to bring back some new baubles to Lakariy'ane.”

Before Julian could mention their similar plans, Gilora clapped her hands together. “That is precisely where we are headed. I don’t suppose we could trouble you for an escort of an evening? It would be a rare treat to see more of the city, perhaps browse amongst the shops?”

Garak looked at her, as if taking her measurements anew for a moment. “No trouble at all,” Mister Garak said genially. “I appreciate any insights my customers could offer into the trends and vogue of the modern young customer.”

Ulani shared a look with Julian that confirmed that she neither expected nor understood what possessed Gilora to arrange a social outing with her new favorite tailor. She rattled off an address that Julian couldn’t follow, and Garak nodded, taking note in his calendar.

“Sounds delightful. I shall call upon Santhe’e evening.”

She beamed, giving a little twirl. “Who wants to bet even I can’t run off a trio of glinns wearing this.”

Ulani rolled her eyes and Julian politely refused to take that bet.

\--

Gilora was the first to step off the transport onto the busy street and smelled the air. “Isn’t it glorious?”

Julian offered a weak smile. It was dusty and crowded and overwhelming. Not even on Earth could they build such soaring buildings. Street hawkers and stalls lined every available corner while staircases wounds around sharp corners and dark alleys promised all sorts of goods and services.

“This way,” Gilora said, leading the three of them down the street to a large complex of suites, each dotted with the tiniest balcony, stacked neatly ontop for what looked like miles. They squeezed into the turbo lift, luggage and all, until the ascended almost a full kilometer and were deposited in front of a heavy marble door lined in gilded lattice.

Gilora approached the door, which took her finger code and opened, revealing equally sumptuous surroundings. Garnet plush carpets, walls of art and tables of sculpture indicated a level of wealth Julian had not seen in Lakariy’ane.

“Aunt Erfen married a gul,” Ulani whispered, taking note of Julian’s surprise. “He died only a year after they married and he left everything to her.”

“Thank The Great Stars,” Gilora said, dropping her bags and sprawling on the nearest settee. "Some delries have all the luck. Imagine having your mate keel over and you live the rest of your life spending his latinum on something as gaudy as this," she said, gesturing to the room. "If I get lucky enough to marry a dying old rhodrun, I'm sure I'll have a better imagination."

“ _Gilora_ ,” Ulani hissed, looking around furtively. “She’ll hear you.”

“No, she won’t,” Gilora said, a sharp smile on her face. “She’s not here. Happy Kensh’U, darlings.”

> My Ke’dal,
> 
> Everything is fine in Cardassia City. I will report back later. Goodnight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gentle readers,
> 
> Ready to unbutton a bit?*
> 
> Wishing you all the best, walkandtalk
> 
> *Maybe full collarbone here. Prepare yourself.


	14. Oasis

_“Gilora,” Ulani hissed, looking around furtively. “She’ll hear you.”_

_“No, she won’t,” Gilora said, a sharp smile on her face. “She’s not here. Happy Kensh’U, darlings.”_

“Gilora,” Ulani hissed again, even though there was no elderly aunt to overhear.

“She’s spending two weeks in a silent retreat on Sesne IV. She’ll never know we’re here, our parents will never know she was gone. Just think, it’s our one chance to socialize without the rhodruns breathing down our necks and those stuck up delries looking down their noses. Ulani, please,” Gilora pleaded, sitting up and reaching for her sister’s hand. “ _Please._ I need this. Don’t leave me now.”

Julian watched the exchange from the doorway, bags still in hand, knowing he was missing some key information.

“If anyone finds out…” the younger sister hedged.

“They won’t,” Gilora promised. “I know exactly where we’re going and tomorrow will be perfectly above board. Not a single reputation besmirched, I promise.”

Ulani looked over to Julian, who shrugged in the Cardassian way, a tilt of the head and a lift of the eyebrows. It was naive, he knew, but also he saw Gilora’s point: it would be nice to be a little freer from traditional Cardassian social mores.

“Fine,” Ulani said, making Gilora smile more sincerely.

“This will be fun!”

\--

Somehow, and Julian didn’t want to ask, Gilora knew exactly where they needed to go tonight. “Dress cosmopolitan,” she insisted, and Julian was thankful he’d taken Mister Garak’s advice on an updated wardrobe for the season, wearing one of the high collared coats and leggings.

Gilora shepherded them to a district south of the towering apartments, past the teahouses and restaurants that lined the market district into a darker street with closed businesses and one lonely open shop selling the addictive herb tancita, the smoky-sweet aroma wafting out into the cool night street.

Julian and Ulani followed Gilora around the corner of the tancita shop to an alley with a nondescript door. A gentle touch to the doorframe and a few whispered words, and they were let in. They were given some scrutiny, but Gilora insisted a friend of hers was inside, and it wasn’t until a well-dressed host sat them at a table that Julian realized one of his youthful fantasies came true.

“We’re in a speakeasy.”

“A what?” Ulani asked, who was just as wide-eyed as he was, looking around their surroundings.

“It’s a secret gathering place, for socializing,” Julian said, watching Gilora’s expression, which had turned from all false bravado to a little unsure.

“You have things like this on Earth?” Gilora asked, intrigued.

Julian heard music, not Cardassian music, something else, more Betazed-inspired, playing in the background. Cardassians milled around, slouched in corners and curled into intimate conversations. No dancing, of course, Julian had thought dancing wasn’t a thing on Cardassia, but he also didn’t think there was a smoky bar hidden underneath Cardassia City where… was that a Kressari? A Kressari woman cuddling with a Cardassian delrie? There were hardly any off-worlders in Lakariy’ane and none in the tiny village of Falthu’U.

Ulani must have spotted the pair just as Julian did and he heard her audible gulp. “It’s just a little…” she started, looking away, worried.

“This reminds me of one of the Starfleet Medical bars I’d frequent,” Julian said, accepting a drink menu from the returning host. Ulani perked up.

“You never mention home,” she said. “You went to places… like this?”

Sometimes he forgot how sheltered his companions were. Neither Ulani nor Gilora had ever left the planet and Cardassian education beyond the Empire was limited if one didn’t go into militia-run politics or business. They were raised believing that devotion to the state and family was the pinnacle of self-development, and anything else was subversive.

Looking around this room, this nameless place might just be the den of iniquity, in some Cardassian minds.

“It’s very common in the Federation, as a form of social entertainment,” Julian assured her.

“There are a lot of things that are common outside our usual lives,” Gilora said pointedly to Ulani. “I’m just looking for a bit of conversation. It doesn’t make it wrong.”

“Of course not,” Ulani rushed to assure her. “How does one… start a conversation here?”

Gilora looked around the room but didn’t need to look far as a couple was making their way toward them.

“Welcome, new friends,” the delrun said, a pretty delrie on his arm. “Come for the Kensh’U festivities?”

Gilora nodded for them. “A friend I knew in Petat recommended this place,” she said slowly. The delrun nodded, looking at his companion with some hidden message in his expression.

“Petat you say? I have many friends in Petat, and any friend of theirs is a friend here. Might we buy you a drink?”

Before anyone could say anything, two extra chairs appeared and Julian found himself squeezed between the newcomers.

“I’m Drach and this is Iliana,” he said, gesturing to his companion, who was now sidled up to Julian with a winning smile. Drach explained he was a dear friend of the establishment’s owner. “It’s always a special night when new friends find our little haven for like minds.”

Julian didn’t get long to ponder what that meant when a hand landed on his shoulder and a voice purred in his ear.

“You’re Human. I’ve never met a Human before. You must be new in the city.”

Julian choked a little. “Yes,” he ground out. “Just arrived today from Lakariy’ane.”

“Tsk, tsk, no details,” Iliana scolded, not losing a bit of her inviting affect. “No full names. We’re just a group of friends who enjoy a bit of enjoyable company now and then.”

Julian nodded dutifully. Iliana reached out and pinched his cheek. “He’s cute,” Iliani said, now turning to Gilora. “Like a baby urall. Too bad he’s dressed like a monk.”

Julian looked down at his clothes. “I was told these were the height of fashion.” He looked around, spotting delruns with much more loose-fitting clothes, one, in particular, wearing an ostentatious tunic of lace with tantalizing cutouts along the neck, leaving a wide swatch exposed around the collarbone. He seemed to be particularly popular.

“Lose the cravat,” Drach suggested, upon inspection.

He loosened the cravat and Iliana reached out to divest him of it entirely and unzip the surcoat further than he'd ever dared before. “And how a little skin. You’ve got a great neck. Flaunt it.”

Julian blinked. “I do?”

Drach smirked. “You’ve got the kind of neck some poets would write sonnets about. _Smooth necked, supple and warm, upon which flowers would blossom_ ,” he quoted teasingly.

“Smooth-necked,” Julian repeated, his face flushing, rubbing his now exposed neck and collar bone, not missing the hungry expressions on the newcomer's faces. Ulani and Gilora were frozen in shock.

Thankfully he was saved from any further comment with tall flutes of violet kanar arrived. Iliana reached over Julian, allowing her sleeve to show her entire wrist and forearm.

Julian immediately felt foolish, having never been on the receiving end of any amorous attention on Cardassia. Although now he had to reexamine his assumptions.

“Thirsty?” Iliana asked, holding out her own glass.

“No, thank you,” he said, making sure he had a kind but firm expression and plenty of eye contact. In a blink, Iliana sat up and turned to a more receptive partner in Gilora.

Gilora took her glass and offered a hand to an eager Iliana, leaving Drach with Uliani and Julian. Drach wasn’t the least surprised and turned out to be the kind of person who didn’t know a stranger, and somehow Julian found himself wrapped up in a conversation about everything and nothing, with new friends circling to introduce themselves and strike up “a bit of enjoyable conversation.”

Eventually, Drach drifted off to other tables and even Ulani began to enjoy herself. Gilora occasionally reappeared at the table to check on them, and Ulani would wave her away, telling her that it was her night to have fun.

“She’s had several suitors, you know,” Ulani divulged, several kanars into the night. “I thought she just had high standards, but then…”

“Is it so wrong?” Julian asked, curious.

“No, not to me,” Ulani said. “Perhaps in other circumstances, no one would bat an eye. Delries marry other delries sometimes when there can’t be any hatchlings or other extraordinary circumstances. But she’s the first daughter of the family. Someone had to carry the family name. When I went away to university I promised her that she didn’t have to worry, that I would find someone suitable, but after this summer it seems less and less likely. ” She sighed, draining her kanar. “But I am sorry, Joo-lee-an, here I am talking about me when you could be out there having some fun. You should go,” she said encouragingly.

For all that he thought he wanted to have a bit of a flirtation tonight, to enjoy that “bit of enjoyable company” that Cardassians seemed so fond of, tonight didn’t seem right. Julian still had the feeling that he was watching a dance where he didn’t know the steps, but with a friendly “no” he was content to watch the Cardassians and off-worlders enjoy their social oasis.

Hours into the night, Iliana and Drach reappeared, their heavy-lidded interest gone and replaced with serious alertness.

“I’m sorry to upset the party,” Drach said in a soft tone. “I’ve been tipped off, we’re about to be visited by some neighbors.”

“The Seventh Order,” Iliana explained, looking around at the unaware merry revelers.

“Be quiet and quick, and don’t tell anyone where you’ve been,” he explained. “Out through the back door, we’ll make sure there isn’t a stampede.”

“But Gilora--”

“I’m sure she’ll be perfectly fine,” he insisted, trying to hurry Ulani and Julian into the back entrance.

“No,” Ulani insisted. “I won’t leave without her.”

“I’ll find her,” Julian promised.

“Very well. But hurry. I can’t stay, and neither can you,” Drach warned, headed to another table to give them the quiet alert.

Julian squeezed past couples until he found Gilora sans Iliana, but now with another delrie sprawled out on a pillow. “It’s time to go,” Julian told her.

“So soon?” Gilora asked, and then looked over his shoulder, alarmed at Ulani’s expression. “Oh, I see.”

“Come back again to see me?” the delrie on the cushion asked Gilora, holding out an ungloved hand. Gilora reached for her hand and held it between her own.

“Gilora Rejal,” she whispered. The other delrie nodded in understanding, and Julian was finally able to drag her out the back entrance to her sister.

When they were finally outside in the shockingly cold night air, Drach was gone as promised and a transport of glinns could be seen coming in from the east.

Gilora looked on, horrified, and Julian could do nothing but wrap his arms around her and usher her back into the shadows and into the borrowed posh apartment.

> My Ke’dal,
> 
> Cardassia City is a bit too busy for me. We didn’t do much today, perhaps tomorrow will be better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gentle Readers,
> 
> Poor Gilora.
> 
> Oblivious!Julian is second best Julian, followed by VerySlowlyGettingIt!Julian. You'll have to guess what my favorite Julian is.
> 
> Much love and wishes of happiness, walkandtalk


	15. A Good Friend

Julian woke that morning feeling absolutely terrible. He stumbled to the washroom and emerged to a much-worse looking Gilora and Ulani, sprawled out on the pristine couches. Their hair was undone, morning robes akimbo, empty cups strewn on the floor.

“There’s tea in the butler’s pantry,” Ulani muttered, mindful of the headaches they were all sporting.

Gilora groaned. “What’s the use of being almost-doctors if you can’t treat this.”

“Veisalgia still has no universal cure,” Julian muttered.

“What is that?”

“A hangover. Nausea, headache, fatigue, impairment of vision in Cardassians,” Julian listed.

Ulani nodded, her eyes closed. “All correct. Prognosis?”

“We’ll recover given tea, a hypospray of amino acids, and time.” 

He went to the butler’s pantry and steeped a few more cups of weak tea with some dry biscuits and found a medikit of hyposprays and brought them out to be dispersed. His companions took them gratefully and drank deeply, trying to rehydrate what the kanar had taken the night before.

“Are you feeling okay?” Julian asked Gilora.

She went still, her mouth turned in a frown and then a half-smile. “I think I will be. Given tea and time, as you say. I’m sorry I spoiled your fun, too,” she said. “I promise, today is a new day.”

A chime for the door caused all three of them to jump a bit.

“Who could that be?” Ulani grumbled, squinting at the security feed. Her vision was still too impaired to see it, so Julian leaned over to assist.

“I can’t tell,” he said, the figure was standing at the exact angle as to not be seen, aside from the top of their head.

“What if it’s someone from Aunt Efren’s staff?” Ulani whispered.

“Or a neighbor?” Julian guessed.

Gilora rolled her eyes and tried to stand. “I’ll answer it.”

“No,” Julian said, worried she would trip over one of the many fine statues. “I’ll go.”

Julian readjusted his robe and marched to the door to answer.

What he did not expect was Mister Garak at least five hours early. “Mister Bashir,” Mister Garak greeted tightly. “Might I come in?”

Instead of waiting, he neatly stepped around Julian, waving a dismissive hand at Ulani and Gilora who were frantically trying to sit up and make themselves more presentable. “No sense in trying to dry the ocean of your deeds,” he quoted. “I see I wasn’t misled about your activities last night.”

“I’m afraid we don’t know what you are referring to,” Ulani said primly, her hair still sticking out every which way.

“I dare say you wouldn’t own up to it. I overheard the choicest bit of gossip this morning waiting for my breakfast,” the tailor said brightly, addressing Ulani and Gilora, a strained edge to his voice. “A young delrie babbling to her companion how she met her first Human,” he cast a dark glance at Julian, “and then in the same breath mentioned his companions were caught in the Justice Sweep last night.”

“We weren’t,” Julian said, belatedly realizing that silence would have been the best defense in a dressing down from a Cardassian.

The tailor's eyes turned to Julian and pinned him with a startling fury, but Mister Garak’s voice never raised above a curt informative tone. “Of course you weren’t. Do you have any idea what would have happened to a Federation citizen if they were caught?”

Gilora brought a hand to her mouth, attracting Mister Garak’s attention.

“You,” he accused, making her flush uncharacteristically. “This was your idea.”

Ulani leaned over her sister, protective. “Whatever you think she did, you’re wrong.”

Mister Garak stalked toward her, his face a storm cloud. “Am I?” he asked quietly. “Am I wrong?”

Gilora met his gaze and slowly shook her head. “No,” she croaked, miserable. “I’m sorry. I was the one who took them there.”

“I suspected as much,” he said, his voice now soft. “You were foolish, I think you see that now.” Gilora nodded. “I hope you all see that now. But I suppose you’ve not been taught any better.”

Gilora blinked away her tears of remorse and took a steadying breath, her expression becoming more thoughtful. “You’re not going to turn us in?”

Mister Garak sat down across from Gilora, almost knee to knee. He seemed a bit deflated as if his tightly bound furocity had run its course. “No. I come as a friend.”

Gilora squeezed her sister’s hand. “I believe I could use a friend.”

“Although one would think you’d have had your fill of friends, considering where you had been,” he said sardonically. At Ulani’s shocked expression, he scoffed. “The world has not changed much since I was a young delrun. And even the illustrious Miss Iliana needs her frocks hemmed on occasion. Cardassia City has embraced, out of sheer necessity, some off-world customs and scope. Do not mistake its cosmopolitan nature for acceptance of off-worlders or _friends_.”

There were twenty-nine words for _friend_ in Cardăsda, Julian had to look them all up and still did not understand all the variations: ke’rua, ke’dal, uf’re’dal, etc. This friend, U’utdal, must include people who felt as Gilora did. Or maybe not. Words for relationships were impossible to parse.

Mister Garak took his time studying the three of them. “You all look terrible if you will pardon my honesty. However, I believe it is in all your best interest to be seen and seen well during Kresh’U. Too many tongues wagging about the wrong things. Nothing like gossip to cut the humid air, as they say.” He glanced at abandoned cups of tea with some disdain. “Might I trouble you for something to eat, as left my breakfast where it was this morning?”

Ulani and Julian scrambled to clear off the floor and managed to throw together a simple meal of poached Regova eggs with yamok sauce, although the smell turned Julian’s mammalian stomach. Meanwhile, Gilora and Mister Garak spoke in hushed tones.

Before Julian could get close enough to eavesdrop, Mister Garak suddenly stood up, looking pensive. Gilora, however, looked refreshed and almost like her old self again. “I must extend my deepest apologies. I was not aware of the time, and I have an appointment clear across the city. I do hope you’ll excuse me.” Without waiting for comment, he started to take his leave as quickly as he came in.

Julian rushed to escort Mister Garak to the entrance. “Thank you,” he rushed out before he could touch the door, worried the man would slip through the door before he could say something. “You didn’t need to warn us.”

“I would not want to see such a promising young delrie caught off guard again,” Mister Garak said.

“But also-” Julian started. “You see, in the Federation, you might have known,” he tried to say, knowing he was mixing up his Cardăsda like never before. “I suppose I am a friend, as well. The concept doesn’t translate well to Humanity’s social constructs, but I thought you should know Gilora isn’t alone.” Julian felt shy and a little unnaturally vulnerable, completely missing Garak’s expression. “Thank you for your kindness, Mister Garak.”

“I would be pleased if you would call me Garak, now, Mister Bashir,” he replied, his face still friendly but his eyes held a glimmer of something a little more knowing. 

“Just Garak?”

“Yes, just plain, simple Garak,” he insisted as if sharing a joke only he understood. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have pressing business matters before I can enjoy the festivities with you three. Good day.”

"I think he's a good man," Ulani said, holding a cooling plate of yamok sauce and eggs.

"Better yet," Gilora said, eyeing Julian speculatively, "he's a good friend."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Gentle Readers,
> 
> I can make out the end. It's almost hidden behind the giant "I am super oblivious" sign on Julian's back, but I think we're more than 2/3rd there.
> 
> Thank you for being a reader, walkandtalk


	16. Blue

A hypospray, a nap, and two more cups of tea, and Julian felt energized enough to tackle another evening of celebrations. Mister Garak arrived at the chime of the bell, extending a paper-thin orchid to each of them.

“A most prosperous Kensh’U,” he said, as Gilora and Ulani accepted and tucked the blooms into their hair.

Julian held his, unsure if he was meant to tuck his into his short hair before Garak plucked it from his fingers and tucked it into his jacket collar.

“There,” he pronounced, sparing Julian a benevolent critical eye on how the orchid set off an outfit of his own design. “You might just start a trend, Mister Bashir. Shall we?”

This time, the city looked a little different to him. Where he had seen a cacophony of bodies, dust, and noise now was a brilliant dance. The denizens were all wearing bright finery, jade and lavender tents and banners lined the streets and small dirigibles moved between the skyscrapers with messages of luck and fertility.

Garak wore a maroon overtunic with a white silk shirt underneath, exposing a neck Julian could not help but notice. He thought about last night’s comment that he had been dressed as a monk, and relayed what the consensus was to his tailor.

“Did they?” Garak said, eyes wide. “I find myself at a loss. I thought the effect was rather dignified for an aspiring doctor.”

“Apparently, my neck isn’t offensive to everyone,” Julian said, a little pleased with himself. Ulani just looked at him in disbelief.

“How are you enjoying the city, Mister Bashir?” Garak asked suddenly.

“It's so grand, I don't think I could see enough to make an appraisal in a week. I've only seen a few market streets and the… other place.”

“Aside from the unfortunate end, you enjoyed yourself last night?”

Julian thought. “Yes, I suppose I did. Not how I’d want to spend every evening, but I forgot how much I missed a more relaxed atmosphere. There isn’t anything like that to be had in Lakariy’ane.”

“Yes,” Mister Garak said thoughtfully. “I suppose there wouldn’t be. Do you wish you had studied here, instead?”

Julian gave a Cardassian shrug. “I didn’t get a choice, not that I would have known where might be a good place to study. But I’ve had wonderful opportunities at Central University, I think life has led me on a much better path than I was on, if I was honest.”

“What a sentimental Federation point of view,” Garak said, obviously amused.

“Yes, I’m still me under all this Cardassian finery and your kind tutelage.”

Their conversation was interrupted by a woman in a tent handing out more flowers to Ulani, Gilora, and Julian. Julian accepted his and offered it to Garak.

“It’s a game,” Garak explained, declining the flower. “To heap flowers upon the young delries and delruns so that they might be plucked later tonight.”

Julian tucked his new flower next to the one he just received, finally noticing who was and wasn’t wearing flowers. “Even the delruns have the…” he gestured to his forehead.

“Ancient tradition that has mostly retired with young men now, aside from the odd fertility festival. I’m sure historians know why women keep adorning their chufa with blue, but a bit of blue or green was considered quite flattering and another signal that one was available for courtship.”

“I’ll need a bit more than that to cover up my Human features,” Julian pointed out.

“Feeling unattractive, even after all that attention last night?” Ulani asked archly.

Julian huffed, conscious of his companion’s eyes on him.

Garak turned to the woman who was passing out orchids and with a quick word he procured a palate of colors.

Turning back, Garak stripped one white glove off and gently held Julian’s face in place with his other hand. With his bare thumb, he smudged a little blue in the middle of his forehead, forming a delicate inverted teardrop. “There,” he murmured, his pale blue eyes never leaving Julian’s. “Very becoming.”

Julian blushed, his tongue suddenly senseless.

“Oh, look, acrobats,” Gilora interrupted. The sisters took off for the tent of aerialists, leaving Garak and Julian alone.

“Have you celebrated Kensh’U before?” Julian asked, desperate to fill the silence with anything.

“There wasn’t much time for festivals when I was a young delrun. My work took me away from home most of the year.”

“You were a traveling tailor?”

“I wasn’t always a tailor, my dear scholar. I’ve done some gardening, architecture, and dabbled a bit in government affairs. I found myself as a tailor quite accidentally. My father was an engineer for the village we lived in, he had high hopes I would follow in his footsteps. And I did, for a time, but struck out on my own. I daresay I might have found a bit of my own ‘better path.’”

“Is that Federation sentimentality?”

“Most certainly not,” Garak objected in good humor. “Only pure Cardassian spite.”

They found a stall selling sticky wenn balls, and Garak bought a stick to share.

“Mila made these for me once,” Julian said idly, enjoying the confections.

Garak nodded. “I seem to recall them cooling outside the window, easy looting for a child.”

Julian tried to imagine a small Garak sneaking hot wenn from the kitchen and into the garden. “What else do you remember?”

“Looking for sea glass on the beach and wanting to stow away on one of the great ships going in and out of the village.” Garak popped another treat in his mouth and chewed, lost in thought. “I recall the cranky old owner.”

“A relative of yours,” Julian recalled.

“Yes, an uncle. Enabrin Tain. He was delusional, paranoid to the end, I heard. He left his fortune to an ungrateful son to squander.”

“At least he left the house to Mila,” Julian said charitably.

“Yes,” Garak agreed lightly. “Perhaps a few good things happened after his passing, after all.”

After a few minutes, they ran into Gilora and Ulani again. 

“I like your chufa,” Ulani complimented brightly. “You should wear it more often. Sometimes I forget you aren’t one of us.”

“Cardassian?” Julian asked, startled.

“No, single. Trying to lure in a mate.”

“Who said I’m not trying,” he said, calling upon some dramatic false bravado to disguise his feelings. “Why, if no one plucks me tonight, it shall be your job, Miss Belor.”

Ulani giggled, arm in arm with her sister.

But Garak said nothing.

\--

That night, he fell into bed and pulled out his PADD, penning a letter to his ke’dal. Something had changed today, he wasn’t senseless to his own feelings but also feeling completely out of his depth.

> My Ke’dal,
> 
> I’ve had a revelation in Cardassia City and a confession to make to you. Without sharing too many details, we had a close call with Cardassian law-keepers while we were here. I was scared for my friend and her sister, but I can’t find myself to regret it, because I believe it has been a revelation. To realize someone, who has been a good friend the entire time I’ve been on Cardassia, might mean something much dearer to me. I’ll admit, I’m very confused about the entire situation. Do I make my feelings known? I’m sure I’m not an ideal mate for such a proper Cardassian, but perhaps there is some hope. There isn’t anyone I can talk about this with, except Garak, but that wouldn’t be proper. I wish you could bestow some advice.

Julian rubbed his forehead and saw the blue on hand and thought of the intense blue eyes that rendered him speechless. Why were Cardassians so difficult to decipher?

\--

When they packed their bags the next morning, Gilora informed them that she wasn’t escorting them to Lakariy’ane.

“Mister Garak has agreed to be your escort back,” she said, fidgeting with her gloves, refusing to meet Ulani’s gaze. “I’m staying here.”

Her younger sister’s eyes grew wide. “With Aunt Erfen?”

Gilora smiled despite herself. “No. Mister Garak has found me a room that is being let out here, in the city. I have a bit of money and I’ll look for a job. I’ll try being a Cardassia City delrie for a while.”

Ulani gasped, horrified. “Without the family? You can’t be all alone.”

“S’adik, I’ve been alone in our home for years,” Gilora said, her smile being watery. “There are friends here. I’ll explain it to the rest of the family, they’ll understand in time.”

“But-”

“I can’t do this if you don’t believe in me,” Gilora whispered.

Ulani embraced her sister, wiping away a few tears. “I’m allowed to worry. But Cardassia City isn’t across the quadrant from Lakariy’ane.”

Gilora hugged back tighter. “You’ll come and visit me,” she demanded, and looked over Ulani’s shoulder to Julian and offered a smile. “Both of you.”

\--

Garak met them at the transport station, carrying nothing in his hands.

“Business go well?” Julian enquired.

“Oh, not as well as I had hoped,” he said, allowing Ulani and Julian to pick their seats across from each other before settling at Julian’s elbow. “But perhaps next year.”

“Next year,” Julian mused. “Who knows where we will be next year?”

Ulani frowned. “You’ll be with me, ca’zda. Don’t think you can abandon me yet.”

The affectionate name made him smile. A year ago, he wasn’t sure if he had a friend in the solar system, and now he was wedged between two of the closest friends he might have ever had.

\--

Garak spent the next few hours in undetected emotional turmoil. Four thoughts preoccupied his mind: gratitude that Julian had such a good friend in Ulani Belor, wondering what Julian saw in her to make him fall in love, daydreaming about making her murder look like an accident, and chiding himself for his continued foolishness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ca’zda - small rooster-like creature, an affectionate pet name  
> s’adik - sister
> 
> Gentle Readers,
> 
> I gave you a thumb! An entire bare thumb on his forehead! Isn't that enough?  
> The only thing better than pining is mutual pining, don't you agree?
> 
> Looking forward reading your theories and thoughts!
> 
> Wishing you well, walkandtalk


	17. A Secret in Return

Room 002, Ba’aten Hall

Central University

Lakarian City

Cardassia

> My Ke’dal,
> 
> Started a new rotation with the orthopedic ward opposite Ulani, which has been helpful. My situation of the heart has not improved, but somehow it has worsened for lack of any progress. But I did get two new pairs of trousers.
> 
> Condition: yearning for someone I can’t have
> 
> Status: stable.
> 
> Prognosis: not good.

> My Ke’dal,
> 
> Orthopedic rotation now replaced with pediatrics, which I think I enjoy more. At least my patients aren’t ogling me (now that I know they were ogling). Doctor Tulme is starting a new research project and I’m to help with the initial samples. Very interesting theories being tested, but I won’t bore you.

> My Ke’dal,
> 
> It’s nothing but cardiac care for the next three weeks. Doctor Tulme’s clinic is busier than ever and she’s asked that I assist her until winter break. Perhaps she will allow me to take a position in her practice as a fourth year.

“The charts reviews you asked for are finished, Doctor Tulme,” Julian said. “Is there anything else I can do before I leave?”

Doctor Tulme was fiddling with one of the scanners, frowning. “Yes, if you don’t mind, Mister Bashir. This scanner doesn’t appear to be functioning correctly. Too sensitive when scanning the frontal lobe, everything is giving me spikes and dips that are unreadable.”

“Do you want me to send it to medical engineering?”

“No, I think I’ve almost got it, scanned myself, would you just…” she gestured to the patient bed.

Julian blanched, a sick sinking feeling he hadn’t felt in months wrapped around his stomach.

“Mister Bashir?” Doctor Tulme looked at him sharply. “Something the matter?”

“No, doctor.” Julian got on the biobed and allowed her to adjust the scanners over his forehead and abdomen, as he had done countless times for Doctor Tulme’s study participants over the last month. Scans and readouts, patterns of the brain, and its relationships to the rest of the nervous system.

“Ve’ ve’ ve’,” the doctor muttered, adjusting her equipment. “A few more moments, Mister Bashir.”

Julian daren’t fidget. He couldn’t think of anything but to stay perfectly still, let alone come up with any of the dozens of excuses or reasons he had made.

“Six clear layers of the neocortex. 1.3 kilograms, 90.2 billion neurons, no trauma noted.” She paused, the silence agonizing. “Accelerated critical neural pathway formation, at least fifteen years ago,” she read. “Is that correct, Mister Bashir?.”

“Yes,” he croaked.

“Excellent. At least this one is working.”

She opened the machine and allowed Julian to sit up and stare at her. “Is that all?”

Doctor Tulme looked up from the second malfunctioning unit. “Oh, yes. Thank you, Mister Bashir, I won’t keep you any longer.”

“I’m done?” he asked slowly.

“Yes. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“You want me to come back?”

She furrowed her eye ridges in confusion. “Yes, we have four new subjects coming in the morning. Did you not receive the schedule?”

“Yes,” he said, dazed, “of course. I’ll see you in the morning then.”

He left Doctor Tulme’s clinic and thought about walking back to Ba’aten Hall, but he changed directions and headed to the market street.

Lakariy’ane Clothier: Apparel & Service for Any Occasion was one of the few on the street with a light still on, but when he entered no one was in the shop to greet him.

“Hello?” he called. No answer after a few more calls, he rapped his knuckles on the door he suspected led to Garak’s quarters above the shop, but there was no answer. Just as a prickle of worry was forming and wondered if he should investigate further, a youth came in through the alleyway door. He was dressed in rags that hung off his narrow frame and couldn’t be any more than eleven or twelve. The boy gasped upon seeing Julian and ran back out just as quickly as he barged in.

“Excuse me,” Julian said, striding to follow him, but was met with Garak’s courteous smile.

“Mister Bashir, what a pleasure to see you this evening. I hope you weren’t coming for that surcoat you left, I’m afraid I can’t have it done any sooner than next week, as agreed.”

“No, no,” Julian denied, glancing over Garak’s broad shoulder at the now firmly closed door. “Who was that?”

“Just a young local lad doing an errand for me,” Garak said, picking up a thick brown paper package. “I will be just a moment.”

He exited out the door, carefully to close it behind him, leaving his customer in a bewildered state for a few moments before returning.

“I thank you for your patience. Now, how might I assist you?”

“I…” he trailed off, forgetting for a moment what made him come here. “It’s silly. Nothing to do with clothes, I’m afraid. I wanted to talk to you about something else.”

“Even better,” he said. “I was about to close the shop. I still have some patterns to go over, but I can provide some tea and company.”

So Julian perched on a stool in the corner of Garak’s workroom, holding a porcelain teacup, watching the tailor roll out yards and yards of apricot taffeta for “the most unfortunate gown I’ve been commissioned this season. Few can pull off such a shade.”

He listened to Garak’s voice, soothed by the energetic storytelling about the widow who commissioned the dress and her initial instance on something more canary than apricot, and between the tea and the other's voice something finally loosed within him.

“I didn’t come to Cardassia by choice,” Julian blurted. “I was kicked out of Starfleet Medical and was given a choice to live in an institution or under “supported” Federation surveillance for the rest of my life because of something my parents did when I was a child.”

Garak had stopped his work, setting aside fabric and pins, and gave Julian his full attention.

“My parents had me genetically enhanced and the records were uncovered during my first year of medical school. It’s a crime in the Federation. My parents are serving out their sentences on a penal colony.”

“You came here to finish your degree because no Federation planet could enroll you,” Garak inferred.

Julian wasn't quite sure why, but he didn't want to tell Garak about his ke'dal, who he had only vaguely alluded to him as a "kind friend."

"It seemed like a chance to start fresh, where no one knew about my sins.”

“It’s no sin,” Garak objected gently.

Julian nodded, letting out a shaky breath. “Doctor Tulme did a scan, noted my enhancement as if it was as routine as a broken arm. The last time someone noticed, my entire life was ripped away from me. She noticed my secret and treated it as mundane as a recalcified fracture. It was… amazing. Liberating. I’ve never told anyone. I didn’t need to allocute at my parent’s trial, there was no defense I could bring to defend myself from expulsion.”

Julian looked up from his cup and into Garak’s pale blue eyes, feeling yet another chain loosen. “I’m an augment.” Words he'd never said aloud, aside from his one-sided correspondence with his ke’dal, were still difficult to say, but it felt healing to say them.

“I treasure your trust,” Garak intoned, a surprisingly formal phrase and another balm on a wound he'd carried for almost seventeen years. “To share such a secret is a dear gift no Cardassian would squander. I’m afraid I have nothing to give in return but one of my own secrets.”

Garak pushed aside his hideous commission and pulled out a handful of fabric, a half-made shirt, much smaller than what he displayed in the windows.

“As a rule, Cardassia has no love for its orphans,” Garak explained soberly. “A child without a family is a curse, and no proper business folk would want to be associated. But I’ve been given some directive from a wealthy benefactor to help clothe the children. Young Deshni lives with nestmates in the slums and was here to deliver some coats.”

Julian remembered the missing filigree on his shop sign he had blamed on a summer storm. “Do they steal from you?”

“I suspect they do. It’s but a little thing, and I imagine bread it bought was dearer than the inconvenience it caused me.”

Julian’s heart clenched. “It’s a good thing that you do.”

“Do you think so?” Garak asked. “Being paid to clothe the statusless orphans of Lakariy’ane isn’t a notable work.”

“Perhaps not to the Cardassian state,” Julian conceded. “But I think it is noble. Our acts are more than just the sum of its benefit to the state.”

Garak nodded his head, considering with a small smile. “Perhaps. And if might I say, you are more than the sum of your genetics, enhanced or no.”

Julian smiled, feeling warmed by his words and attention. “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me, my dear scholar,” Garak said sincerely. “It was not a secret.”

> My Ke’dal,
> 
> Of all the planets, why did you send me to Cardassia? Was this perhaps the only corner of the universe you knew I would be safe? No amount of gratitude could possibly compensate you for the great good you’ve done in my life. I wish I knew how to repay you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ve' - yes
> 
> Gentle Readers,
> 
> I think I'd love to write some out-takes from Garak's point of view (after this story is finished, so I don't ruin the suspense and mystery). If you were interested in something like that, would that go in chapters after or in a separate "sequel"? Thanks for your thoughts! walkandtalk


	18. Cad

My Ke’dal,

Another year almost coming to a close. I’ve been able to avoid the social season almost in its entirety, covering Ulani’s shifts so she might attend more soirees, a system that suits us both just fine. She reports that she has taken three walks with one particular delrun, which apparently is much better than one walk with three different glinns.

The conversion rate of courtship rituals on Cardassia is confusing. 

Yours, Julian

\--

My Ke’dal,

The break is almost here, and you’ll never guess how I’ll be spending it: Gilora Rejal has invited me to spend the entirety of it with her. 

Cardassia City has agreed with her tremendously and she’s certain we’ll “take it by storm” together. She spends most of her days employed in a tonsorial parlor and her evenings are spent with groups of artists or political activists or free thinkers or other interesting characters she’s met.

Ulani Belor will join us for at least a week. How, I don’t know. Maybe she will tell her parents she’s visiting old Aunt Erfen again.

Yours, J

\--

My Ke’dal,

Your secretary has sent me a curt message that I am to spend the summer in Falthu’U again. Would you please inform them that I have already arranged for room and board in Cardassia City? Yours, Julian

\--

Dear Sir,

I’ve received your secretary’s reply and see that my arranged transport to Cardassia City has been canceled and rebooked to Falthu’U. I can only assume (as you don’t reply to my letters) that this is your doing and you object to me spending time with Miss Rejal. I’m an adult, have been for years, and if you want to boss me around, I’d prefer you at least attempt to boss me around to my face.

If, by chance, your secretary is reading this, might I suggest you quit and find another job? Your employer is a cad.

I’ll be in Falthu’U if you need me.

Respectfully, Mister J.S. Bashir

\--

Dear Ke’dal,

It’s been six weeks since I’ve last sent you a message, and I don’t think I’ve even gone six days without sending you something. Not that you don’t deserve it.

I’m still very disappointed that I won’t see Gilora and Ulani over the break. I’m still smarting from your secretary’s one lined message ordering me to this tiny village. But, upon reflection, I didn’t get to choose the nature of my benefactor. And if my benefactor is as kind as he is unreasonable, then I choose you, both the kindness and unreasonableness.

I’m resolved to begin anew.

Falthu'U hasn't changed a bit. I'm in my little room by the sea courtesy of Mila and the wencot I planted last year has--

\--

A knock at the door disrupted his thoughts and Julian looked up from the desk he borrowed in the library.

Mila was in the back, the clackity-clack of her loom halted and she got up to walk to the door. When she swung it open, he could hear her gasp.

“Oh, Elim,” Mila cried, hands up. “Good gracious, my boy, you gave me a fright.”

“Mila,” a familiar voice replied. “I hope I haven’t called at an inopportune time.”

Julian placed the voice immediately, heart in his throat but a wide smile on his face when he peeked out into the hallway to see none other than Garak.

“Mister Bashir, I wasn’t expecting you here.”

“My plans were changed abruptly,” Julian explained, bowing in greeting. “But I am glad to have the day interrupted by you.”

“Yes, please, come in and sit, we haven’t had any company here in ages,” Mila said, pushing him further into the house and taking his coat.

“Well then,” Garak replied, a small pleased smile on his face when he looked at Julian, “I will consider myself lucky to be wanted.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gentle Readers,
> 
> So the tentative plan is: when I can post the very last chapter of "A Gentleman and a Scholar" I will post the "Garak POV" bit in a separate story at the same time as a sequel, so readers who are interested can find/follow it. Thanks for all the ideas!
> 
> Wishing you crisp autumn days and crunchy leaves (if that's what's called for in your part of the world), walkandtalk


	19. Brave

Village of Falthu'U

Morfan Province

Cardassia

“Here we are,” Mila announced, setting a tray down on the parlor table and arranging the cups between the three of them. “And a spot of luck: I had some wafers tucked away,” she said, passing the plate of the delicate crisp pastries toward Garak.

“You remembered,” he said, accepting them and taking two for himself.

“Of course! Why, when he was a boy he would sneak the whole parcel of them. He’d empty his tin of lunch and pack only these,” Mila mused to Julian. “I don’t much care for them myself, but always kept some in the cupboard.”

Garak delicately nibbled a wafer, nodding in appreciation. “It has been so many _years_ and I’m surprised you remember.”

“What else do you remember?” Julian asked Mila, eager to hear more childhood stories.

“Oh,” Mila exchanged a look with Garak that Julian couldn’t quite decipher. “Remember when you broke your arm trying to climb out the window?”

Garak smirked. “I think I was trying to make an escape hatch out of my window.”

“And oh, how he cried.” Garak sputtered into his teacup while Mila continued. “Didn’t stop crying until he got to the clinic.”

“I’m sure all I needed was an osteo compound, a hypospray of painkillers, and a healthy respect for gravity.”

“And that pretty young doctor,” Mila said slyly. Julian couldn’t help but grin at Garak’s attempt not to sputter again. “He had eyes for her for the rest of that summer.”

“I don’t recall,” Garak said primly, putting his tea down. “But I have always appreciated competence.”

\--

Mila convinced Garak to stay for supper, roasted red clams (Garak claimed he’d never been so spoiled), and then again wheedled him into staying the night. They spent the entire evening reminiscing. Mila was a library of memories of “young Elim” and something she would say would prod a memory from Garak. Garak shared the news from Lakariy’ane, which was now desolate in the heat of the summer and all of the fashionable people had gone to the sea. Instead of keeping the shop open he’d closed it for the week and decided to take a meandering visit to Falthu’U before his business in Cardassia City.

“Cardassia City?” Julian perked up, supper now wrapped up and the three of them enjoying a glass of kanar.

Garak nodded. “Your friend, Miss Rejal, is still there, yes?”

Julian nodded. “She’s still boarding with your acquaintance, and loving the city. She is very grateful to you. We all are.”

“It’s a beautiful city,” Mila said. “But give me the quiet village life over all that trouble right now.”

Julian turned to Garak, surprised. He didn't keep up with the current events on his break and didn't get tangled into village gossip, as scant as it was.

“Some civil unrest,” Garak explained. “It’s been hushed up in the news vids, but if you know where to listen, Cardassia will be pulling out of Bajor sooner than later, if the signs are to be believed. There have been some coordinated attacks and protests, much worse a month ago than now.”

“Attacks?”

“Usually directed broadly at all off-worlders, as these things go,” Garak observed disapprovingly.

Mila nodded, distressed. “Happened at the beginning of the occupation, too.”

Julian wasn’t completely ignorant to the political tension in Cardassia City, Gilora’s messages were peppered with subtext and understood not all was well in the capitol. He was surprised there had been outright attacks.

“Not in Lakariy’ane, thankfully,” Garak assured, looking closely at Julian. “One might assume that was why you chose a quiet holiday by the sea instead of meeting your friends.”

Julian shook his head. “No, although I suppose I should be grateful I am not there.”

Mila nodded, picking up the abandoned dishes on the table. “Mister Bashir has such a good guest but Falthu’U doesn’t have much to offer the young folks.”

“I was hoping to take a hike through the salt marshes before I had to leave tomorrow,” Garak hinted.

“Oh, I’ve had a grand idea,” Mila said, dropping the stack of saucers with a clatter. “You should take Mister Bashir.”

Garak blinked. “To the salt marshes, yes that sounds marvel--”

“No, take Mister Bashir to Cardassia City. He’d be perfectly safe with you, Elim,” Mila said.

Garak’s eyes grew round. “That’s not necessary,” Julian objected, not wanting to impose but also very much wanting to. “I have instructions from my benefactor to stay here.”

“And I would hate to be the cause of any discord between you and your sponsor,” Garak said obligingly.

“Who’s going to tell him?” Mila said, eyebrow arched. “You?”

Garak opened his mouth, then closed it with a snap.

“There, that’s settled,” she said, pleased with herself. “You can’t stay cooped up in here, Mister Bashir. Besides, there’s no one better to show you Cardassia City than our Elim.”

> I’m back with Mila in my little room by the sea, and the wencot I planted last year has bloomed and climbed almost to the roof.
> 
> I’ve had quite the surprise while writing this letter, but I don’t want to spoil the surprise. I promise I will tell you later, but wish me luck, for I will need it. I’ve been given an opportunity that Mila has dropped directly on my lap, although I bet she didn’t know it. I’ve decided to be brave, and brave in love if love will have me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gentle Readers,
> 
> Mila is a master manipulator in my mind and I'm a very big fan. Hope you are too.
> 
> Has Garak redeemed himself a bit?
> 
> Until the next chapter, walkandtalk


	20. Nerves

Villa 20Rg9

Re’duat District

Cardassia City

Cardassia

Julian tucked his communicator back into his surcoat with a smile. “Ulani arrived three days ago and she and Gilora will meet us tomorrow for aklun.”

Garak had taken the transport’s window seat and had spent the last twenty or so minutes gazing out the window. When he heard Julian’s announcement, he nodded absently.

“Is everything all right?” Julian asked.

“What?” Garak said, pulled from his reverie. “Oh, yes. Quite all right.”

“I do appreciate you bringing me on your trip,” Julian repeated. “I promise not to inconvenience you.”

“No trouble at all,” Garak said, subdued. Julian worried, not sure what to make of Garak’s behavior today. The man was exceptionally secretive and proper (and therefore, secretive). He had hoped this trip might bring them closer together. The conundrum was that Julian was so… boring. He was Human, and inexperienced, and very aware of his shortcomings in the eyes of most Cardassians.

Garak seemed… fond of him, at the very least. Julian was sure of that.

“Have you read Shoggoth?” Julian asked. Garak nodded, intrigued, which was always a good sign, he assured himself. “I’m rereading his series of enigma tales, a gift I received a few years ago, and finding myself uncovering new layers of culture I didn’t understand when I first arrived.”

“A provocative exercise.”

“It’s the first tale that confuses me the most. I now understand that everyone is guilty, and one must deduce what they are guilty of, but what I don’t understand is how Etmar’s wife could be guilty of high treason and Etmar is not.”

Garal eyes lit up and the next hour passed quickly in an amicable debate, Julian forgetting Garak’s initial melancholy.

“Mister Bashir, a crime against the state is always a crime against one’s family on Cardassia,” Garak argued. “In Shoggoth’s fifth enigma tale, the double-edged sword of Pifa’s flaws are highlighted to that effect.”

“It’s Julian,” he said, suddenly derailed. “You said I could call you Garak, so you must call me Julian.”

Garak smiled, a bit more brightly than he had all day, even when debating Shoggoth. “One must extend the invitation and never assume. Julian.”

Had it been years since he heard his own name pronounced correctly? How easily it fell of Garak’s tongue, which made Julian smile widely.

“I’m glad we have that settled.”

> My Ke’dal,
> 
> You can’t be angry, but I’m in Cardassia City until the term starts in a few days. I now understand why you didn’t want me here, but I’ve been reassured the anti-Bajoran attacks and counter-protests have dwindled considerably, and I am being very safe, and even if I’m not, I don’t care.
> 
> See! You’re not the only one who can be unreasonable.
> 
> So far Garak has taken me to the museum and the Cardassia Prime library. This morning we visited the gardens of Legate Yarik which are entirely made of poisonous flora. We had to wear hazard suits to enter.
> 
> We talked and argued deep into the night about literature and philosophy and even medical breakthroughs. He is the most interesting person I’ve ever met.
> 
> This afternoon we’re meeting Gilora and Ulani for midday aklun and then who knows?
> 
> P.s. did you think I forgot about my newly found resolve to be brave in matters of the heart? I did not. But patience is a most Cardassian virtue, I am told.

Garak had rented a villa in the Re’duat district, overlooking the river. It was convenient to his business meetings, which he came back from with armloads of fabrics, buttons, and parcels in between escorting Julian to the touristy places in the city.

Garak didn’t grow up in Cardassia City but had lived there for a time, in between his travels. He boarded from the same house that Gilora was renting from, although the owners had changed hands. He still was a wealth of information, serving as a tour guide, event planner and escort all rolled into one. One of his favorite activities was quizzing Garak on the current and late leaders and all the gossip Garak had accumulated over the years as they walked past their great houses along the river.

“Gul Dukat,” Garak whispered, looking at an imposing miniature fortress. “Known to have several mistresses and more than one child out of wedlock. He’ll most likely suffer the least in the Bajoran handover if he plays his cards as well as he usually does.”

“How do you know so much about everyone?” Julian asked, enjoying every story Garak told. Perhaps some were lies, but they were all very well told. “Were you employed as a spy?”

“Goodness, no, nothing so interesting,” Garak denied. “I was his gardener for several months. No one notices what gets tossed out the window except the grounds staff. Here we are, home at last.” He looked at his timepiece. “And just enough time to change before we meet with Misses Rejal and Belor.”

Which, in retrospect, was the worst thing that could have happened. Garak left to go to his room in the villa and emerged in record time wearing a burnt orange tunic and maroon trousers and undertunic of gauzy material, a nod to the hot weather, and more formal occasion. Julian was still standing before his closet, fretting.

Of course, there was a reason. Julian couldn’t make a declaration in private, not politely. It needed to be public. There needed to be witnesses, where Garak could decline Julian’s proposal in the kindest way possible and Julian could save face easily.

He could also beg Gilora to allow him to spend the rest of the week with her, instead of returning “home” to the rented villa with Garak.

And if by some miracle, Garak permitted or even returned Julian’s affection, they would… to be honest, Julian wasn’t sure what came next. But something would happen, and Garak would know what.

“Problems?” Garak asked, standing in the doorway, observing Julian having a breakdown over his wardrobe.

Julian held up a coat, a deep green one with marigold accents. “This one?” Garak made a non-expression, which he knew was worse than a "no", so Julian picked up another coat without looking at it. “This one?”

“Nervous about something?” he asked kindly.

“Maybe. It’s silly, I know. I never used to care how I looked,” he admitted, and then looked up shyly. “I blame you, you know.”

Garak raised his hands, still bare and casual, as one would dress within the home, in a sign of defeat. Julian gulped, dragging his eyes away from the exposed wrists. Now he understood. How had he not understood before? “Guilty, but let’s not commit any more crimes against a perfectly good fabric this season.”

The Human looked down to where he was wringing the hunter green coat.

“Julian,” Garak said firmly, taking the coats from his hands. “Let me do this one thing for you. Please, I insist.”

So that was how Garak dressed him, picking out trews and a mellune, zipped down a bit further than he normally would, but a bit of organza poked out from his undershirt, giving it a smart look. Garaks hands plucked and readjusted the fabric until it fell on Julian's body to Garak's satisfaction and his distraction.

“Not looking like a monk, I hope?” Julian joked, too nervous to be anything but awkward.

“No,” Garak replied thickly. “I think we best be off, or we’ll keep your delrie waiting.”

“Delries,” he corrected. “Ulani will be there too.”

“Yes, how could I forget?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gentle Readers,
> 
> I'm so excited to get to the end, I hope you are enjoying all the frequent posts! Forgive my silly errors, I'm too excited to wait and return and proofread right now :-)
> 
> Wishing you happiness, walkandtalk
> 
> P.s. I forgot to add, the garden of poison is inspired by an actual garden: https://www.alnwickgarden.com/the-garden/poison-garden/


	21. A Most Unexpected Question

Re’duat Tea Room

Cardassia City

Cardassia

> My Ke’dal,
> 
> I am a fool.

Garak and Julian arrived at the fashionable tea room first, securing a table in the corner. Each well-appointed table was covered in nosegays and damask tablecloths and perfectly positioned so one could see or be seen to its occupants' best advantage.

Garak took the seat beside Julian and ordered tea and savories for their aklun, completely at ease in the midst of all the elegance.

“Do you remember taking me to a place like this?” Julian asked.

Garak nodded, a tight smile on his lips. “Almost two years ago, if I remember correctly.”

“You helped me so much. I was quite lost before you came along.”

Garak’s smile became more genuine. “Not so lost, my dear scholar. But I am glad to assist.”

Julian cast a furtive look at the door, wondering when their audience would arrive.

“Relax,” Garak muttered, passing Julian a teacup.

He could not relax. He felt like his stomach was going to crawl up his esophagus. Julian mentally listed all known ailments that could cause his symptoms. It calmed him down, oddly enough.

Not even a minute later, Gilora walked through the door looking stylish in a brilliantly printed kaftan and sweeping curls. She rushed at Julian, on the edge of overly familiar, and grasped his forearms. “Joo-lee-an, I am so glad you could come to the city. And Mister Garak, it is so good to see you.”

Behind her, Julian could spot a radiant Ulani arm in arm with a delrun a head taller than she. Her companion had a round face and jet black waves caught at the nape of his neck. At Julian’s inquisitive look, Ulani beamed. “Joo-lee-an, bocot kiba’avzayn edek. This is Mister Ospin Netat,” Ulani said, her neck flushing prettily. “My intended.”

Julian was completely gobsmacked. “You’re engaged?” Hadn’t she said she had gone on a couple walks with him just a few short months ago?

Ulani’s smile didn’t waver a bit. “Yes, we just received approval last night from his parents.” She grabbed Netat’s wrist on her elbow, showing off a gilded bracelet.

Julian stared at it, silently cursing Cardassian double-speaking etiquette manuals again. Jewelry was involved? At what point? “Congratulations. That’s wonderful.”

Netat bowed his head in acceptance. “To have Miss Belor as my life mate is a blessing many times over.” Ulani looked like she was about to melt in fondness over him.

Garak glanced at Julian, his expression unreadable, before offering his most charming smile. “My warmest wishes on your happy union.”

Gilora signaled for another chair to be brought to the table and neatly wedged herself between Julian and her future brother-in-law. “Our parents are delighted to welcome Netat into the family,” she announced, helping herself to tea. “And I, for one, feel like the weight of three generations has vanished from my shoulders.”

Ulani rolled her eyes and turned to stare into Netat’s face, who looked equally besotted. After a moment she turned back to her classmate. “Joo-lee-an, is something wrong?”

“What?” Julian put down his teacup, missing the saucer entirely. “No, nothing. When’s the ceremony?”

“The Enjoinment will be after graduation. We hope you’ll still be here,” Ulani said hopefully.

Julian smiled, reassuring his friend. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

He’d never say so, but his hopes of making a very proper Cardassian romantic overture vanished as soon as Ulani held out her fiancee’s betrothal bangle. Why couldn’t they be on Earth, where acts of courtship conducted in private weren’t disgraceful? Jil Orra said a delrie in the Ecology department had allowed a suit pressed in private, _unchaperoned_ , and her family disowned her and the university expelled her.

Julian didn’t think he could find another corner of the alpha quadrant who would take him if he went through that _again_.

But today was for Ulani and Netat, and he wouldn’t want to steal any of their thunder or worse, make things awkward. He could wait.

He looked at Garak, meeting his intense blue eyes, now soft and almost concerned. Julian smiled back but could feel his heart clench.

Yes. For the right person, _for Garak_ , he could wait.

\--

After aklun, Gilora suggested an outdoor concert. Garak, who was supposed to meet someone about wholesale Ikatian silk, said his supplier needed to reschedule and he was available to join them.

“Excellent, I’ve got exactly enough tickets. Did I tell you my friend plays four different types of woodwinds?” Gilora said, on the edge of gushing.

“Who does?” Julian asked.

“Miss Tiduna,” Ulani teased. “She’s a musical prodigy, paints, and knows at least five languages.”

“And martial arts,” Netat added helpfully.

“Yes,” Gilora agreed blithely. “I might have mentioned her a few times.”

They continued through town to a large municipal park, chatting amicably about Gilora’s new interest in music, Miss Tiduna, and old Aunt Erfen’s interest in Betazed art and finding Gilora a proper delrun among her acquaintances. Julian could admit it was a bittersweet afternoon to see his friends so happy and obviously in love. He was happy for them, but he couldn’t help his eyes straying to Garak, who kept returning every look Julian gave with an intensity he couldn’t quite decipher.

When they arrived at the open-air amphitheater Garak allowed Julian to walk past him and take the seat in the shade while his Cardassian companions basked in the brilliant sun and the sun-warmed stone benches. Garak immediately procured cold beverages for their group to enjoy during the concert.

When he gave Julian his goblet of iced wine, he leaned forward so as not to be heard. "Are you well?" he asked.

"Yes," Julian replied, grateful for the cool drink and touched by Garak's unending thoughtfulness. Truly, he anticipated Julian's needs before he knew them, in so many ways. His heart swelled at the thought. "Thank you, yet again. I don't think I'd survive this without you," he joked.

"Say the word, and we can leave," Garak said. "I can make some excuse, no need to subject yourself to this."

"No, no," Julian objected. "I'm fine."

Garak gave him another enigmatic look but didn't press the issue.

Families were sprawled out with their hatchlings wiggling in their seats. Courting couples, like Ulani and Netat, were under the watchful eyes of their escorts. Julian could read his companions better now, picking up on the little details and changes: Netat’s careful posture, always leaning toward Ulani, but never too close, a helping hand extended to assist her to her seat, the gentle way he adjusted her shawl, making sure the folds were just so, it called to mind another set of hands.

Julian gulped the rest of his ice wine.

He refused to look at Garak again, not knowing what he would do or say. He tried to listen as the music started, but was acutely aware of Garak’s solid form inches from his, the way his hands rested on his knees, and then his lap, and then back to his knees, the ivory gloves making a pleasant rasping sound on the maroon trousers, a whispering that only Julian could hear.

It wasn’t any wonder that when the concert ended, Julian was too distracted to notice that Garak was talking to him and making to stand and converse with the others.

“What?”

“I ask if you have ever heard post-Golden Century composition.” At Julian’s dazed shake of the head, Garak continued, turning to include Gilora in the conversation “it’s a modern interpretation, but I enjoyed the daring arrangement. Miss Tiduna's solo was superb."

Gilora might have commented, Netat mostly likely contributed his opinion, he didn't know. Julian struggled to find his words, trying to think of something, anything, before he accidentally asked--

“Would you want to go for a walk?”

To his credit, Garak didn’t give any outward initial acknowledgment of his clumsy and poorly timed overture. Julian cast about the slowly emptying orchestra pit and amphitheater. “I’ve never been here, and I thought I saw an arboretum when we walked in,” his voice tight and much louder than necessary.

Julian looked at Gilora and Ulani, both of their faces frozen in a mix of interest and discomfort, making his heart beat even faster. If he wasn’t already sweating in the Cardassian summer heat, he was surely dripping now. He longed to dab his brow and laugh off the whole thing, but Garak put him out of his misery.

“Yes, there are some cantatha’a still in bloom,” he remarked. “Thank you for an enjoyable afternoon,” he said to Ulani, Gilora, and Netat. He bowed, turned on his heel toward the arboretum with a “shall we?” to Julian, and started walking away. 

Julian sketched a hasty bow and took off after Garak, leaving the other three to staring at them in bewilderment.

He chastised himself for allowing his exuberance to overtake his common sense and decorum. What in the world had he done?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gentle Readers,
> 
> Mwahahahaha.
> 
> Wishing you peace and happiness, walkandtalk


	22. One of Twenty-Nine Words

Mister Rotu’s Boarding House

Cardassia City

Cardassia

Julian waited outside the bungalow where Gilora lived, suitcase in hand, and practically fell through the doorway as soon as she answered.

He was ushered into a tiny sitting room and made to sit in the overstuffed chair and a mug of something bitter and earthy was shoved into his hands by Ulani. The pair of sisters waited for Julian to speak.

“He doesn’t want me,” he said tightly. He’d been prepared for this moment, but saying it out loud seemed much more real and hurtful that the previous hour had been.

Ulani made a sympathetic sound but Gilora leaned forward, her eyes narrow in suspicion.

“What, exactly, did he say?”

He relayed the entire thing: Garak’s slow realization of Julian’s intentions, his denial and apology for the misunderstanding, the resulting painfully awkward conversation, and finally Garak's kind plea for Julian to forget the entire misunderstanding.

_“You are going to make someone very happy, my dear, but it can’t be me.”_

How had it gone so wrong? He had learned so much since his first unfortunate encounter and had a developed four-point plan which he had partially accomplished:

  1. Spend time together, getting to know one another
  2. Request more time together in semi-privacy in the Cardassian way
  3. Convince Garak that Julian was a well-mannered, interesting, and desirable partner
  4. Request even more time together in complete privacy (and indulge in all the things that made Julian’s blood run hot and gaze linger on a certain pair of capable hands)



“It is difficult to navigate the unwritten rules of Cardassian social graces if one is not part of the archetype,” Gilora sympathized. “I, like you, thought he was receptive. More than receptive, to be honest.”

“You did?” Ulani and Julian asked in unison, surprised.

“I have eyes,” she said, a little offended. “In any case, he’s been receptive before. Mister Garak isn’t entirely unknown among my new acquaintances, you understand..”

He flushed, that tidbit of knowledge not helping his hurt heart. “Do you think it’s it because I’m Human?”

If Julian had been a Cardassian male, had been perceived as a potential mate and equal, rather than a curiosity, perhaps he would have an easier time. But he also wouldn’t have the social freedom he currently enjoyed with his friendship with Gilora and Ulani. Being beneath traditionally-minded Cardassians’ notice cut both ways, but he had always assumed that Garak viewed him as an equal.

“I don’t think it’s that at all,” Ulani said. “Anyone who gets to know you couldn’t help but appreciate all your fine qualities.”

“Precisely,” Gilora agreed.

Julian smiled, grateful to have a place to go when he realized he couldn’t stay a minute more in the villa with Garak. The tailor had insisted he would find somewhere else to go, but he couldn’t bear the thought of making Garak so uncomfortable with his failed courtship and turning him out in the place he had rented.

“But Julian,” Ulani said, chewing on her lip. “Forgive me, but what about your ke’dal? I assumed you were in a happy arrangement.”

“Why would that matter?”

“Would your ke’dal not be offended that you were trying to court someone while they were with you?”

“Ulani,” Julian said, leaning forward, “what exactly is a ke’dal?”

Gilora and Ulani exchanged a long-suffering look. How much more badly would this day possibly go?

“A person who pays for things, arranges a life for another, maintains their happiness," Ulani explained. "Aunt Erfen occasionally kept a delrun or two as a ke’dal. It is an honorable role if one has the financial means to be one. Jil Orra’s intended had a ke’dal before he met her, his ke'dal sponsored him into the Order.”

Julian clumsily tried to translate a Terran euphemism.

“Sweet father?” Ulani repeated, confused. “No, never a relative.”

He sighed, trying again. “Is this relationship romantic in nature?”

“Not romantic, but perhaps sexual. But not always. Aunt Erfen always wanted someone to lift the heavy furniture and attend the opera with her, and the delruns wanted the fine living she could provide,” Gilora explained matter-of-factly. Julian’s eyes grew rounder, surprised such a thing existed in Cardassian culture. “But a courtship would take time away from what your ke’dal expected of you.”

He tried to grapple with this newfound knowledge. He couldn’t walk the streets without gloves and Ulani and Gilora couldn't be seen with Cardassian males without an escort, but they could exchange sex for education or power. “Is it common? Acceptable to have a relationship with someone, to pay for a lifestyle, and expect something like sex or attention or...”

“Why wouldn’t you expect something in return?” Ulani asked, puzzled.

“Not everything we do gets something in return. I give you my friendship with no strings attached.”

Ulani stared at him as if she’d never seen him before. “Julian, I will admit to a profound ignorance of Federation social mores, but one does not list the things one gives friends among Cardassians, it would be ill-mannered. At the risk of sounding indelicate, I have expected things from you, and you have received things from me. My time, my exochemistry notes, and hospitality, for example.”

How very, very Cardassian. Twenty-nine words in Cardăsda for “friend” but none for “charity.” “But this person expects nothing from me,” he explained. “I’ve never even met them!”

Ulani frowned. “Never? But all your letters, your messages...”

Julian shook his head emphatically. “Entirely one-sided.”

Ulani frowned deeper. “A road always travels both ways or else it is not a road,” she quoted. “What strange Federation ideas you have about friendships, Julian.”

He flopped back against the chair, hands covering his face in a mix of frustration and embarrassment, his heartbreak over Garak temporarily forgotten. “I’ve been calling them my ke’dal for over two years. They haven’t said a word to correct me. Or any words at all.”

Julian thought about the books, the clothes, the little room by the sea. There had been messages, in its own peculiar way, but nothing overt. Nothing that would lead him to think his benefactor had any expectations…

Gilora sighed, shaking her head. “Perhaps that is answer enough.”

> To the kind benefactor who pays for medical schools, clothing, room and board, vacations, sends gifts and probably several other things I’m forgetting,
> 
> Today has been a terrible day. 
> 
> I had a dear friend and now I fear I have lost him because of my own folly of the heart.
> 
> I thought I had a friend in you, but now more than ever I realize I don’t know you.
> 
> Who are you: my confidante, my friend, my ke’dal?
> 
> I must know: what expectations do you have of me? Keep your other secrets, but I deserve your honesty and transparency in at least this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gentle Readers,
> 
> Stick with me, please! This will be another great scene for the outtakes, but to keep the story moving along, it it seemed better to have the rejection off-stage. I'm not enjoying toying with their little hearts. Much.
> 
> May your devices always have full battery charge & your tea always the right temperature, walkandtalk


	23. Debt

Room 002

Ba’aten Hall

Lakariy’ane

Cardassia

> My Ke’dal,
> 
> I’m going to keep calling you that, do you mind? After some reflection and your secretary’s note, it has grown on me after these past two years. As I have no other name to give you, we’ll continue as we have been.
> 
> In that same vein, thank you (or thank your secretary) for the encrypted note. I appreciate that I am not in some type of unsuspecting servitude upon graduation. But I must say: it’s not very Cardassian of you to insist there is no debt incurred. But perhaps you aren’t very Cardassian. I hope that isn’t rude. I am not entirely the Federation citizen I once was.
> 
> Ulani would say I was improving as a person.

> My Ke’dal,
> 
> First, good news: I’m pleased to report that I’ve been awarded a commendation and scholarship for two years running. To think I’ll not have to impose on you much and not for much longer! That means a great deal to me, not to be beholden to you, despite what you/your secretary said in the note.
> 
> Doctor Tulme has sponsored me for my final year. She has given me the chance to assist in expanding the clinic’s pediatric ward and I am supervising several second years in lab work.
> 
> They look so young to me, hard to imagine I was once in their shoes!
> 
> There are only two shadows on this brilliant final year: Jil Orra and Garak.
> 
> Jil I can bear. I only need to work with her one day a week and it’s all consultation work at that.
> 
> I miss Garak. I miss his conversation and insights, I miss him as my confidant. He reminds me of you, perhaps when you were younger. How can he remind me of someone I haven’t met? But there it is: he’s been the friend you haven’t been, the one that talks back, and I miss that.
> 
> I still want to be his friend, but I don’t know how to tell him that. I’ve thought of a dozen ways I could do it, pop into his shop for a new ensemble or rip something for him to mend or just say hello.
> 
> I will let you know when my wounds heal and my courage returns.

> My Ke’dal,
> 
> Please find enclosed the latinum credits your secretary sent. Between my extra shifts for Doctor Tulme and the award, I’m quite set for the rest of term. My endless gratitude for your care and kindness.

> My Ke’dal,
> 
> Two very unexpected things happened today: Jil Orra defended me to an attending pharmacologist. She said that I was “one of the most competent students of our class.”
> 
> I’ll never understand, but I must have endeared myself to her in some small way.
> 
> I am presenting in Zitha at the end of the month at a local medical conference. I am second author on a paper with one of the Doctor Tulme’s colleagues about the-

Julian felt, then heard, the blasts sweep through the building. Three in quick succession, so strong it rattled the windows. Then nothing, a nothing so eerie he put down his PADD and exited the room.

By the time he ascended the stairs into the entryway of Ba’aten Hall, he could hear the emergency sirens and the entryway was slowly filling with his classmates in their robes who had also been disturbed by the mysterious barrage.

“Return to your rooms,” the House Mistress ordered. “All students are to return to their rooms and monitor the state safety channel for further instruction.”

Reluctantly, the students returned, gossiping amongst themselves. Was it an explosion from Bajoran sympathizers, like in Cardassia City? A fire at the ore plant?

When Julian entered his room he opened the safety channel which had a shelter-in-place alert. Peering out the window he couldn’t see much, but within the hour two messages appeared within seconds of each other.

> 3948201 Julian S. Bashir voluntary activation as emergency medical personnel. Please respond with your acceptance and report to the Emergency Medicine Division at the enclosed coordinates.

> Encrypted Message:
> 
> To Mister Bashir: Emergency transport to Falthu’U arranged, please take this opportunity to evacuate Lakariy’ane immediately.

Julian knew what his decision was before he fully understood the second message from his benefactor's secretary, accepted the first and changed into his medical uniform. He packed what he thought he would need, which seemed to be everything, not knowing what he was going into. It wasn’t until he walked out of his room that he wondered why he would need to be evacuating if the emergency channel wasn’t recommending it.

It was dark, not quite midnight and several other fourth-year students were leaving. He spotted Ulani and Jil Orra and the group of them made their way through the mostly deserted streets.

The old city hospital was on the other side of Lakariy’ane and Julian could smell before he could see where, if not what, the emergency was: the river. The combined smell of humid sulfur and acid and smoke became more overwhelming the closer they got. They could see emergency personnel directing individuals inside, some limping and others coughing.

Jil gave Julian and Ulani a worried look before shouldering her pack and leading them into the door marked for staff check in.

> My Ke’dal,
> 
> Sorry, staying here. Am safe. Will update soon.

> My Ke’dal and/or his secretary,
> 
> Kindly stop messaging me through the hospital communications. You shouldn’t have access to them anyway. I won’t be leaving. I am fine. I will message you soon.

> My Ke’dal,
> 
> I promise I am well. I’m sure the newsvids have either all or none of the details, but some major engineering catastrophe has interrupted all of our lives and compromised our water supply for the near future. However, the hospital director is confident the worst will be allayed soon and life might turn back to semi-normal within the month.
> 
> Most of the people who could evacuate have, which leaves the engineers, medical staff, and the unfortunate souls who could or would not leave.
> 
> After the first day of treating injuries from the lock and dam failures, we’ve devoted our efforts to treating those who have been accessing the contaminated water. I suspect the locks and dams that failed were older than they should have been and the potable water has mixed with the agricultural and industrial waste from the plants on the outskirts of the city, for now, we’re seeing acute exposure to toxins and having to treat an array of gastrointestinal and respiratory illnesses.
> 
> Ulani and Jil Orra are here with me, as are another half dozen of my classmates. We’ve all pulled together in miraculous fashion. I believe that we-

“Mister Bashir?” a voice whispered, interrupting his writing in the only private space he could find, the alcove the staff had been using for quick naps between shifts. “There’s a patient in room two, says he would like a second opinion, asked for you by name.”

“Who?”

“A Mister Garak?”

Julian’s insides did improbable things. He had hoped that Garak had left the city, was safe in Falthu’U or Cardassia City, like most of Lakariy’ane. He had been too busy and apprehensive of his reception to send a communication. “I’ll be right there,” he said, putting his writing materials inside the duffle bag that held his belongings and stashing it among the other dozens of similar bags belonging to the emergency volunteer staff.

Garak sat back in the emergency room ward bed, hand clasped over his chest, a picture of a man without a care in the world.

Julian called upon all his professionalism, putting on his best bedside face, and entered the room with the confidence of a senior doctor.

“Good evening,” Julian said, pulling up Garak’s chart on the terminal screen while an orderly stripped the bed beside him to get ready for the next patient. “I see that Doctor Ikdi has given you a clean bill of health. What seems to be the matter?”

“Good evening,” Garak replied. “I assure you I would not be wasting your time if it wasn’t concerning.”

“You are complaining of skin rashes, difficulty breathing, and stomach pains.”

The Cardassian nodded emphatically. “Yes, for several days now.”

Julian picked up the tricorder and rescanned him. “Nothing that can be seen here. When did this occur?”

“At least three days,” Garak insisted, casting a doubtful expression at Julian’s tricorder. As soon as the orderly left the room, Julian put the device down and leveled Garak with his best serious look.

“What are you doing here?” he asked flatly, although his heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest.

Garak raised his hands again, but this time his hands were neatly gloved and his sleeves were chastely in place. Didn’t do a damn thing for Julian’s blood pressure. “I would not have bothered you specifically if I had another recourse. However, I do need treatment.”

Julian frowned. “You are perfectly healthy.”

“I’m sure that’s what your devices say, but believe me when I say that I need the treatment.”

“You need the treatment,” Julian repeated, suspicious. “You need it for what?”

“For whatever it is you read on my intake chart,” he affirmed, sky blue eyes wide with beguilement.

Julian had to look away and turned to focus on the terminal. “And if I administered twelve tablets of dexmacerin and magnesium, you would…”

“Take them, as ordered, and be on my way.”

“The magnesium should be taken with food,” Julian said. “No more than 2 tablets a day for a grown male.”

“And if that male was not grown?” Garak asked idly.

Julian looked up sharply. “How much ‘not grown?’”

Garak rubbed his fingertips against each other idly. “Twelve cycles. And eight cycles.”

Julian’s heart dropped for entirely different reasons. “Children. You need medication for the children.”

“Three, one you met last year, you may recall. They can’t come here, but I thought, perhaps-”

“Say no more,” he ground out, simultaneously frustrated and heartbroken for reasons that had nothing to do with Garak. Julian rang up several orders at once, sticking the medication in a medical bag. “You will take me with you?”

With a quick message to Ulani to cover for him, he left with Garak, who declared to all staff that he had made a miraculous recovery thanks to the care of Julian Bashir.

Outside was dreary. The smoke from the still chemical fires finally dissipated, but it had painted many of the buildings a dull grey. It looked like it might rain. He was grateful, rain meant freshwater, new beginnings. Perhaps their time in a state of emergency would be over soon.

Garak escorted him to the orphanage just west of where they were and downriver from the structural collapse of the dams and locks. Closer to the hospital than most of his patients, the children could see the top of the building from their window but could never enter. Minors needed to be accompanied by a relative to access healthcare services.

 _Cardassia had no love for orphans,_ Garak had warned. These children had no relatives to represent them and were cut out of the state-funded healthcare as easily as any other perceived malignancy upon society.

It was easy to see the sanctuary was grossly underfunded, run by a lone cleric, an ancient rhodrun who looked older than the building foundation crumbling beneath her.

“Who is this?” she asked, obviously familiar with Garak.

“He’s a doctor,” Garak explained.

“Doctor in training,” Julian corrected, displaying his medical bag hopefully. “I’m told you have sick children? I came to help.”

She glared at him through watery eyes. “Men don't have the mind for medicine,” she muttered but allowed him into the orphanage where three children were laying on pallets, obviously ill.

“Deshni,” Julian said, remembering the boy who had burst into Garak’s shop for the coats. “How are you feeling?”

The boy pointed to his neck, a mottled green, consistent with respiratory distress in Cardassians. “Hurts,” he gasped.

Julian ran a few scans, confirming what he suspected, and administered some medication via hypospray. Immediately he started breathing better. Julian explained in simple terms what had happened and looked over at the other two.

“Just these three sick?” he asked the cleric before moving to the next child’s pallet.

“We have clean water here now,” she said, bowing to Garak in gratitude. “But Deshni and his two friends, they went scavenging earlier in the week. I don’t think they knew.”

Julian scanned the next, went through the motion of treating their acute exposure to toxins. “You can’t go there again,” he cautioned the youngest, no more than eight. “It’s not safe until the engineers say so.”

Her eyes were round with amazement as he showed her her vitals on the screen of his portable scanner and let her scan him in return. “Excellent scanning, doctor,” he congratulated her, finally earning a tentative smile.

He left the orphanage with bottles of medication, written instructions, and directions on how to reach him if needed. “Pakariy malinzayn ça’ada,” the cleric said earnestly, having warmed up a little to the male almost-doctor, and bowed them both out of the building.

“Thank you,” Garak echoed, sincerely grateful but wary now they were both alone again and on the deserted street, not quite making eye contact. “If you find yourself in any trouble with the hospital, please let me know, I’ll explain-”

“Garak,” Julian said and then startled by the intensity of expression Garak finally granted him. “I am sorry, about before. We don’t need to speak of it, but I hope I am still your friend.”

“Please, Julian,” Garak entreated, “I regret that I have caused you even a moment of distress. I have so many regrets, things long before you, but I hope you never doubt my sincere friendship.”

The word he used for friendship, a loyalty that spoke of kinship beyond blood, refuge, and protection. It warmed Julian and made him hopeful he hadn’t lost what he cared about most with Garak.

“And you have my friendship,” Julian returned. “May we start again?”

“I dare hope we might renew where we left off,” Garak suggested, offering Julian his medical bag back, his hands brushing against Julian’s, a knowing light in his eyes, “but better.”

His insides did the most improbable things again, and he let himself dare to hope just a little bit.

“I would like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pakariy malinzayn ça’ada - you do us a great honor (to superiors)
> 
> Gentle Readers,
> 
> I was going to break this into two chapters, but I could not torture you like that. You all have been so wonderful, so kindly accept this slightly delayed but more robust installation.
> 
> Kindest regards and snuggliest sweaters, walkandtalk


	24. Unconventional

Central University

Lakariy’ane

Cardassia

> My Ke’dal,
> 
> As much as I thought I lost in the last month, I have somehow regained it back tenfold. Something resembling normalcy has once again returned, Lakariy’ane’s population restored, the rivers are flowing, and I’m busier than ever. It’s all us fourth-years can think about, now the disaster is over: qualifying exams, graduation, and initiation into our first position.
> 
> And also, I have Garak again…

He paused, trying to imagine what else he could say about that happy yet perplexing development.

Julian had returned to the orphanage twice more after their reconciliation, first alone and then ran into Garak there the second time. He claimed he was picking up some mending from the children, but insisted on escorting Julian back to the university without a parcel upon his person.

“You’re good with them,” Garak commented that afternoon, Ba’aten Hall within sight. “I didn’t expect them to like doctors or strangers.”

“Most children like doctors, if they treat them with respect and take the time to be kind. I seem to remember that you once liked doctors as a child,” he teased, remembering Mila’s story about a small Garak with a broken arm.

“Nothing about that has changed.”

Julian caught Garak’s secret smile and returned a wider one, but made no further comment.

Garak had lent him a book, hemmed the sleeves of his navy jacket, and shared a recipe for inkbahr casserole. It was like it was before the summer, and yet very much not. He struggled to decide if he was projecting his own unreturned affections upon Garak’s innocuous actions or wondering if he was seeing what he thought he perceived: that distinct intensity and interest he thought Garak only spent on him. The looks that made Julian hope months ago, and now again.

What had changed? Where would they go from here?

Ulani said that Garak was too kind and gentlemanly to let Julian misunderstand his renewed interest. Gilora wrote him a pointed letter to Julian’s latest update demanding he make Garak grovel.

Julian finished his letter and looked at the chronometer. He had a little time on his hands. Perhaps he could fit in a visit.

He stopped by the apothecarist first, then the pastry shop, and managed to buy the last few favorite biscuits. By the time he made it to Garak’s shop, the sun was low and casting purple shadows on the scant trickle of market-goers. Lakariy’ane Clothier: Apparel & Service for Any Occasion’s lights were still open, so Julian walked in.

“Good evening,” Garak greeted, a little distracted by the screen he had in his hands.

“Is there time for one last customer?” Julian greeted cheekily. Garak put down his screen in haste, pleasantly surprised to see him.

“Julian, I wasn’t expecting to see you. How might I assist?”

Julian looked around the shop, which had become quite familiar to him over nearly three years. “I hope I didn’t come at a bad time.” He displayed the parcel in his left hand from the bakery. “I come bearing gifts.”

Garak tucked his reading device out of the way. “I am honored you thought to come here to share them. Might I offer you some tea?”

Julian agreed and was surprised Garak led him into his workshop. Tucked behind a bookcase was another door, which prompted Garak’s bioscan. Not the entrance he suspected.

“My inner sanctum,” Garak said with a sly smile.

“Interesting security features,” Julian commented when they were prompted yet again for another bio scan, this time for Julian as well.

“Yes,” Garak said absently. “A selling feature of the property, to be sure. Perhaps a bit over the top, but one never knows.”

Garak’s home was charming. The tips of the trees that lined the market street brushed up against the wide windows, giving the effect they were in a garden of sorts. Five doors, each closed, faced the landing. Garak opened the second door to a study with rich woods and deep rugs with a table and two deep armchairs perfectly situated for an intimate meal.

Julian was invited to sit while Garak procured their tea, which allowed him to catalog the private space. Books were lined against one wall and a few Cardassian style landscapes were hung on the walls. No photos or personal memorabilia. Nothing pretentious, just cozy, well-appointed, and decidedly Garak.

Garak returned with a full Cardassian tea service, a sturdy green pot of redleaf, Julian’s favorite, with a tiny matching pot of honeyed milk and his contribution of a platter of crisp wafers and delicate biscuits flecked with seeds and bits of edible flowers, making them look like fireworks in mid-explosion. Garak passed one cup exactly how Julian preferred it and settled in to serve himself.

He could do nothing but stare, struggling to fill the typically comfortable silence, which had now become charged with something else.

“It was beautiful outside this afternoon,” he started. Oh Stars, he led with _the weather._ “I suppose you didn’t get to see much of it, being busy in the shop.”

“And what a busy day it has been. I think half the university is ordering their graduation uniforms from me. When might I expect your order?”

“As soon as I secure a contract. I imagine you’ll be the first to know. I’ve received two offers, which is two more than I expected,” he shared. “Doctor Tulme’s doing, I am sure. Despite the accolades on my academic record, not too many clinics are interested in letting a male off-worlder into their practice these days.”

Garak frowned in sympathy. “What sort of contracts are you trying to attract?”

“I like pediatrics,” Julian admitted. “In the Federation, there are so many opportunities to specialize in just that field, but on Cardassia one is usually expected to treat the entire lifespan.”

“If one is fortunate to be trusted with a Cardassian family, then they must be trusted with the entire family,” Garak agreed.

“I have one offer on an outer colony in the Almaltha sector, replacing their sole internist. It comes with a large caseload and an even larger itinerant staff to supervise.”

“Frontier medicine,” Garak noted.

“Yes,” Julian grinned. “Something I thought I’d enjoy, the challenge of the borderlands, something of a childhood dream from adventure books I read as a child.”

“How peculiar. Do you still find the position appealing?”

“Perhaps,” he said, knowing full well the question wasn’t an idle one. “But the only other office was in the outskirts of Culat, a much larger hospital, and outpatient clinic.”

“More might come along.”

“Perhaps.” Ulani has received dozens of offers and Jil Orra was already in a position to be installed as a Second Order medical advisor, his chances looked weak. “There’s always something outside of the Cardassian Union.”

“Breen Confederacy?” Garak asked in his not-quite teasing voice, his eyes sharp.

“Perhaps. Something tells me that the Klingon Medical Division isn’t interested in my skills. I might inadvertently rob my patients of their glorious deaths.”

“The Ferengi Alliance is always hiring good physicians.”

“Yes, but I have it on good authority that most would never trust a physician that couldn’t be bribed to hasten the demise of their patients. Denotes a lack of lobes.”

“There you have it. Cardassia sounds safer.”

“No offers in Lakariy’ane,” Julian said, getting to the heart of the matter. He started to fiddle with his saucer.

“That is unfortunate,” Garak agreed, and then set down his teacup, reaching out to still Julian’s hand. “Julian, would you consider staying?”

He looked where their hands met, still sheathed in gloves. Garak twisted his wrist, just a bit, causing Julian to look up in shock to Garak’s knowing eyes.

“Would you consider it?” Garak repeated, his voice lower with intent.

“I- I don’t know,” he stuttered, inexplicably dumbfounded. He had hoped and planned for this moment, and he couldn’t quite remember what was supposed to happen next.

“A lot can happen in a month,” he pointed out, his hand not leaving Julian’s. “I am certain an opportunity will present itself.”

Years ago, Garak had explained this dance and he never imagined the man would turn that lesson upon Julian himself. _A demure deflection to encourage your partner to prove their suit_ , Garak had said.

“I am not sure.”

Garak’s gaze grew sharper, pleased that Julian was dancing the first steps of a courtship ritual. “You have until the end of Ma’avoun to find a position, surely there is no rush to commit yet.”

Julian moved his hand but Garak’s hold on tightened infinitesimally. 

“Let me take this month to convince you,” he beseeched. “I have made mistakes. Before you leave, I would like the opportunity to right them, to redeem myself in your eyes. Please, Julian.”

“Yes,” Julian whispered, ending his charade of indecision. Garak released Julian’s hand and leaned back, satisfied.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “I don’t deserve it, after how I had left things in Cardassia City, but I am grateful.”

“Why?” Julian asked.

He didn’t have to expound further, Garak sighed into his teacup. “In part, a case of mixed signals and misunderstandings. I thought you were simply being your enthusiastic Federation self and that you were carrying a flame for Miss Belor.”

“How could you think I was interested in Ulani?” Julian objected.

“In retrospect, I can see that I was wrong. I regret every moment of that exchange, and I am very grateful you can forgive me.”

"You are forgiven, wholly." Julian returned the small sincere smile Garak bestowed him, happy they were onto better things, but something Garak said niggled at him. “You said ‘in part.’”

“Not all the chapters can be read at once, dear scholar. I have a month to make my case to you, I believe. I can’t be expected to spill all my secrets at once. This courtship is already off to a most unconventional start.”

“I imagine the entire situation is unconventional.”

“And you _are_ taking tea in my private quarters,” Garak remarked, a sly look on his face as his foot slid under the table to nudge Julian’s. “Unsupervised, no less.”

“At your invitation,” Julian objected but gave Garak’s calf a nudge of his own. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

“I’m quite proficient at keeping secrets.”

> My Ke’dal,
> 
> Commencement is just around the corner. Perhaps you’ll finally introduce yourself? Gilora, Garak and even old aunt Erfen, who I have never met but feel like I know very well, will be there.
> 
> Won’t you come?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gentle Readers,
> 
> I give you: footsie. Are we at an M for Mature rating yet?
> 
> There's 2 or 3 more chapters left, I think. But then again, six chapters ago I thought it would be 3 chapters. So math is not my strong suit here.
> 
> Sending you all my gratitude for your continued readership, walkandtalk


	25. Dates

Central University

Lakariy’ane

Cardassia

After their taboo private tea, Garak insisted on visiting Julian at the hospital during his lunch break. It was important, Garak explained, that everyone notice the public display of an initial overture to courtship.

“It would be a story that started in the middle.” 

“ _Crimes Written in Copper_ started in the middle,” Julian pointed out, remembering the Shoggoth tales his benefactor has sent.

“Exactly, a story of crime. A courtship without public beginning would reek of impropriety.”

The next day, Garak arrived at Doctor Tulme’s clinic, dressed in a sharp-looking silver and blue mellune and trews and hair neatly styled to the nape of his neck, carrying a basket.

Julian could appreciate Garak’s effort and hoped that “student uniform” wasn’t too informal. He remembered what the tailor thought about the color the first time he saw it.

“Mister Garak, what a pleasure to see you,” Doctor Tulme greeted, alerted to his presence first. “I wasn’t expecting a visit from you today, was I?”

“No,” Garak agreed, briefly glancing over her shoulder to where Julian had just entered the visitor waiting area. “However, I had hoped to borrow your young protege, if you would do me the honor of allowing me to take up a small bit of his time.”

Julian beamed and was about to speak up for himself, but noticed Garak’s gaze was expectantly on Tulme. She was silent for a long moment, Julian was dying to know what she was thinking before he warmly invited Garak to make himself comfortable in the quadrangle.

“My thanks, Doctor Tulme.” Garak bowed and walked out the door towards the quadrangle.

Tulme turned around, looking at Julian expectantly. “Are you waiting for something, Mister Bashir? He truly couldn’t have been more clear about his intentions.” Her words jolted him out of stupefaction, and he rushed to clock out of his shift and follow where Garak was striding off to.

He had picked a semi-shady area of the university green, well within sight of the students walking by and probably a third of the offices and patient rooms of the hospital.

“Public enough?”

“Perfect for our purposes, I do believe.” He reached into his basket and pulled out several expandable cushions to recline on. Cardassians loved picnicking, especially for a midday alkun, and considered an outdoor shared meal to be a social occasion. However, his classmates did not tend to have alkun with so much in the way of accouterment and said so.

“If a thing is worth doing, it is worth doing extravagantly,” Garak explained, setting out little covered dishes, inviting Julian to sit on one of the mint damask pillows. “I only intend to do this once.”

There was something about his voice again, not just what he said, but how he said it, that warmed Julian more than the afternoon Cardassian sun.

“Are those _dates_?” he asked, distracted by the little glass dish.

“Is that what they are?” Garak asked, picking up the dish and offering it to Julian. “A Federation colleague of mine had some, she said they were popular among Humans.”

Julian took one, enjoying the sweet, aromatic flavor. “Thank you. It reminds me of my childhood. My grandmother had a date tree.”

“Did you grow up with a large family?” Garak asked, offering another date, which Julian greedily accepted, bringing a smile to his suitor’s eyes.

“Only child of only children,” Julian explained. “My one living grandparent, the one with the date tree, died when I was a teenager. You? Any siblings or relatives?”

“Much the same,” Garak said, opening other containers of pickled vegetables, fresh ragova egg, and larish pie. A stone flagon of ice-cold tea, a nod to Julian’s enjoyment of cold beverages, rounded out the midday feast. “A few distant relatives, but no one to speak of.”

“So we do have some things in common,” Julian mused, “besides literature.”

“Is that important to Humans?” Garak asked, intrigued.

Julian considered, accepting a delicate glass goblet of tea. “Sometimes. We look for love, devotion, selflessness, common purpose. I get the impression good matches on Cardassia are family matters and in support of the family and state.”

“There’s always an expectation that there is some harmony of personality, but all the great romances are of two opposing minds and wills.”

“Opposites attract."

“Just so.”

“As courtship rituals go, Cardassian ones are confusing. I prefer my consent explicit and enthusiastic.”

Garak scoffed. “It is. You could not miss a withdrawal or dismissal from a Cardassian. All the signs are plainly written. Simply look at all the great romances.”

“Name one.”

“Engit and Datar, from _The Sign of Caves_.”

“That wasn’t a romance,” Julian objected, remembering the novel Garak had lent him months ago.

Garak sat up, and Julian recognized the look, earnest and open, engaging Julian’s attention fully and enjoying it in turn.

_Had he been flirting all this time? And only now he realized? What else had he never noticed?_

The minutes passed thus in an enjoyable debate, which turned from literature and romance and pivoted deftly to Federation politics, spices, and tissue donation. It was as if there's wasn't a topic on the planet Garak was averse to discussing, and Julian said so.

"Variety is the very spice of life, That gives it all its flavor," Garak quoted in Standard.

"I've read up a bit, in preparation," Garak admitted.

"How much reading?" he asked intrigued. "And when?"

"My dear scholar, I'm allowed some mystery."

"All this time we could have been debating Shakespeare and Akagawa. And your 'mystery' isn't nearly as charming as you think it is."

"That is a lie," Garak teased, reluctantly packing away their empty dishes. "You enjoy the enigma. If I was an open book, you'd grow bored."

"Point taken." Damn him, it was true. He found Garak fascinating, unlike anyone he'd ever met. Just when he thought he knew who he was, another layer unfolded.

They both stood up from their cushions, knowing they weren't to touch or bid too fond a farewell.

“Thank you for your time and attention,” he said formally, bowing.

“I hope I have earned the pleasure of your company again,” Garak replied, returning the bow. “Now, I believe Doctor Tulme is very interested in finding out how our luncheon went.”

Julian turned to see not just her face peering out of the office window, a combination of pleased and curious.

> My Ke’dal,
> 
> Garak took me to the theater tonight, I’m not sure if I understood the point of the play, because I thought it was very dour and depressing but Garak explained it was a farce. Perhaps I should read more screenplays.

> My Ke’dal,
> 
> Garak took me sailing. I’ve never been, not even on Earth. Garak borrowed a tiny dinghy and showed me how to pilot it to one of the islets along the river, past the new engineering along the locks and dams. It was quite possibly my favorite day on Cardassia.

> My Ke’dal,
> 
> Garak has sent gifts: jevonite and chocolate from Earth with a poem.
> 
> Ulani said the jevonite was to be added to a betrothal bangle, should I accept.
> 
> The poem was from Rumi. He has expanded past the Human books I’ve recommended.
> 
> I get to enjoy the chocolate all to myself, it doesn’t agree with Cardassians.
> 
> I’ve attached a formal invitation to the graduation ceremony. I didn’t know how to address it, so I added “particular friend” to the seating arrangement, with Garak on the other side.
> 
> I’m looking forward to you meeting him. Perhaps you can give me some advice as to how to proceed? Ulani and Gilora aren’t any help: they’re divided if I should elope tomorrow or let him spend the next two years prostrate on his knees. I’ll let you guess who suggested which.

> My Ke’dal,
> 
> I haven’t received any reply to my last request. Surely you don’t want to be anonymous forever?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mellune - Cardassian daywear, loose about the shoulders with bell sleeves meant to be rolled up to expose the wrists and forearms as permissible.
> 
> Gentle Readers,
> 
> I hope this wasn't too much of a gap and some of you are sticking with me!
> 
> Sometimes, you just need to nap.
> 
> Wishing you rest & peace, walkandtalk


	26. Fitting

Lakariy’ane Clothier: Apparel & Service for Any Occasion

Lakariy’ane

Cardassia

> To Mister Bashir:
> 
> If you wish, you are welcome to call upon my employer at the enclosed address tomorrow. If you do not come, he will consider the arrangement fully concluded and extends his best wishes for your future career and happiness.

> My dear scholar,
> 
> It is a beautiful morning, the cantatha’a tree outside my window is just starting to bloom, which heralds the start of summer in Lakariy’ane. I have spent years not noticing them, but this year they are an exquisite reminder of the time that draws near, where I will receive your answer to my courtship. It is a sweet torture to see their bloom.
> 
> Do you have time this evening to at least be fitted for your graduation uniform? If you can’t come today, I’m afraid you will have to find something off the rack, and I don’t know if I could bear it.
> 
> Yours, E. Garak

Julian left the clinic with a spring in his step and a smile on his face. Seventeen different things went wrong at work today, but it didn’t matter: he had an invitation to see his paramour today, his ke’dal tomorrow, and he was in love.

Correction: he was fairly certain he was in love. He'd fancied himself in love at a couple of points in his life, but current signs pointed to a deeper, more lasting affection and readiness for commitment than he'd ever felt before. It was a heady, thrilling feeling. Also, a little frustrating when he'd not so much as touched the man through anything less than four layers of fabric. Cardassian propriety was brutal on his Human libido, not that he was brash enough to make that fact known.

When Julian arrived at Garak’s shop, a light in the back room hinted that Garak remained, waiting for their appointment. Julian let himself in, not needing to announce himself, as Garak immediately walked through the workshop into the shop proper to greet him.

“Thank you for accommodating me after hours.”

“Anything for my favorite customer. I have the fitting room ready for you.” 

Julian entered the small room, placing his overcoat on the peg by the door, leaving him in a vest and shirt.

“Vest and belt off too, if you would,” Garak instructed, tailor's tape in hand. “We’ll be taking new measurements.”

Julian lifted his arms so Garak could slip the tape and measure the widest part of his chest, slipping his fingers against the planes of his back, testing for slack. Again, around his middle, sturdy arms bracketing him, bringing Garak’s face close to Julian’s for the briefest moments. Julian had to allow himself a brief reprieve from the unrelenting eye contact when Garak took his seat measurements.

“Problem?” Garak asked, voice cool but eyes knowing as he moved behind Julian to measure his shoulders. He met the tailor’s eyes in the mirror and allowed himself a sheepish smile.

“This time, it feels a bit illicit, doesn’t it?” They hadn’t been allowed anything more than a bit of hand-holding and walking arm in arm all these weeks.

Garak’s mouth quirked into a filthy smirk. “Mister Bashir, it felt a bit illicit each time you came into my dressing room.”

Julian blushed and looked away again, feeling Garak’s palms measure along the planes of his shoulder, the biceps, and down his back.

“You really do have the most lovely neck,” Garak murmured, a gloved thumb skimming across his pulse point, making it quicken. "So delicate and soft. What those delries must have thought of you in your first uniform."

Julian allowed himself to enjoy Garak's singular attention, which felt more like he was being measured and memorized than fitted for a suit.

"Remove the gloves, please.”

Julian stripped his grey gloves off and placed them on the chiffonier next to his belt.

The tape held from shoulder to elbow, elbow to wrist, the most delicate of touches to Julian’s bare wrist, now firmer as they encircled them, another thumb held at a pulse point.

“Step up, if you would,” Garak said, holding his hand to help him step upon the alteration platform for fitting his trousers. Julian refused to look down, where Garak knelt and fiddled, adjusting his trews this way and that. His fingers never ventured into obscene territory but when Garak looped his tape perilously close to his groin for a long moment he let out a small sigh.

“You never were this thorough before. You’re teasing me,” he accused.

“Yes,” Garak agreed. “Is it working?”

Julian allowed his bare fingers to ghost along Garak’s shoulder, touching the ridge that peaked just above his collar, delighting in how the skin darkened blue beneath his touch. Garak turned his head and breathed in heavily before kissing his bare palm. Julian was no blushing virgin, but he’d never felt anything like having Garak’s teeth scrape against the meat of his thumb. He made a noise that sounded much louder in the tiny fitting room.

“I told you, I only intend to do this once,” Garak said, his lips brushing against the skin where he had kissed. “Only once, only you. I have not always been kind nor mannerly in my youth, but you’ll need to forgive me for faltering.”

What was so sexually charged became infinitely more intimate as Julian brushed his free hand over Garak’s head, reveling in the texture of his hair, and felt him shudder a little under the gentle contact.

“You cannot blame me for using every tool of persuasion at my disposal. I’ve only this chance to convince you, Julian,” he whispered, reluctantly releasing Julian’s bare hand, looking beseechingly up at him.

“Your argument has been affecting,” he managed, which made Garak smirk again and broke the tense spell the tailor had woven over them.

He stood, brushing his gloved hands across his tunic, leaving Julian feeling bereft from the lack of contact. “I’ll leave you to dress. I have some fabric in the workroom I pulled out for your suit.”

When Julian joined him, fully dressed once more, Garak had several styles of linen, all in creams and ruby.

“Here, your employer’s insignia,” he explained, pointing to the large lapel.

“Might need to be blank,” Julian said pragmatically.

"Who knows what tomorrow will bring?" Garak reminded him, optimistic.

“That reminds me, I got a message today.” Julian explained the brief note he'd received from his ke'dal's secretary.

“How intriguing. What will you do, now that you have an invitation?”

“Go meet him, of course.”

“I don’t see why,” Garak sniffed. “You don’t need him. You don’t owe him anything, as you said. I think that he gave you the opportunity to refuse and start your life anew, with no shadow of a ke’dal. A final gift, as it were.”

Julian paused, surprised. “But I do owe him. I owe him my gratitude, my career, the life I have now. If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t have met you. I owe myself to tell him that to his face. Does that make sense?”

Garak smiled, bitter and fond. “You are so _honorable_.” He sighed. “But I still wish you wouldn’t go.”

“I won’t be gone long. Would you like to come with me?”

He looked torn. “No, my dear. I believe this is something you’ll want to do alone.”

“I’ll come back straight away.” Julian was concerned that this small trip could disquiet the tailor.

Garak nodded, patting arm reassuringly. “Don’t worry about me, my dear. Tomorrow is for you.”

> My dear scholar,
> 
> I wish you well today. No matter what happens, I am still yours, E. Garak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gentle Readers,
> 
> I was considering slapping a rating on this and realized that no one would consider "full palm kisses" anything north of a G rating.
> 
> Smelling salts for anyone who needs them, walkandtalk


	27. To Whom It May Concern

Office 46B1H

Lakariy'ane

Cardassia

The day was already muggy and the sky an inky purple by midmorning, a Cardassian portent for early summer showers. However, nothing could possibly dampen Julian’s mood: he’d meet his benefactor today. Aside from Garak, this was one of the most important people who had changed his life.

Julian stood in front of the unassuming office front in Lakariy’ane’s professional district. On one side a legal practice, the other an accountant, but the address gave no indication of what its function was. He went to the door to announce himself, and it swung open, the automated security system directing him to the second floor. Instead of desks or counters or people working, the first floor was completely empty. Not a stitch of furniture to indicate that anyone would ever visit.

It was quiet, almost too quiet, and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled in alarm. He ascended the marble steps to the second floor, his footsteps echoing eerily.

On the landing, a single door was left ajar. He knocked but no one answered. He pushed the door open, revealing a Cardassian figure standing in front of a wide window, his back to Julian and the door.

“Excuse me,” Julian said, concerned that the man hadn’t heard him knock. “I have an appointment with-”

The man turned around.

“Garak!” he exclaimed, simultaneously relieved and confused. “What are you doing here? Do you know my ke’dal?”

Garak’s face flickered, a mix of unhappiness and wariness. “I do.”

Julian’s heart stopped, then beat faster, trying to make sense of that. “You do?” His mind worked, trying to piece together the puzzle that was Garak. “No.”

Garak nodded, taking a tentative step toward him.

“You can’t be,” Julian accused.

“I can explain.”

“You’re his secretary?”

Garak paused, looking conflicted. “Not exactly.”

Julian's eyes flickered around the room. “Then, where is he?”

“I’m right here.”

Oh. Oh no.

“No,” Julian denied. “You…” he stopped, shaken. “You read my letters? All my letters, the ones about you?”

Julian played back every word, every sentence he’d said. The embarrassment was visceral. “They were private!”

To his credit, Garak looked contrite. “I know.”

“I was writing to him, not you.” Julian sank into a chair by the door, too overwhelmed to even think straight. “You’re not even _old_.”

“I am guilty,” Garak agreed, walking over to Julian. He sank to his knees, a repentant and vulnerable position, legs tucked behind him and head hung low. “I am so much more than that, I’m a disappointment to you. I’ve earned every ounce of contempt and distrust. I am not a good man.”

“How good does one need to be to send a message? A quick comm, years ago?” Julian turned his back, too angry to look at Garak. 

“I wanted to tell you, so many times. But to tell you one thing would mean telling you so many other things I never wanted you to know. Julian, I mean it when I say I am not a good man. I’ve done many things I am not proud of, things I may never be able to say. But five years ago, I inherited the estate of one of the vilest and dangerous men on Cardassia.”

 _‘He left his fortune to an ungrateful son to squander.’_ Julian remembered Garak’s distaste as a supposedly distant relative.

“Tain,” Julian inferred. “Enabrin Tain was your father.”

“A poor one at that. What to do with this wealth he left me? Out of sheer spite for the dead, I put the money to work in things that might do some good. Penance for the sins of father and son, if you will.”

“The orphanage and scholarships,” Julian remembered. Garak said nothing, but he knew he was right. “But why me?”

Garak sighed. “On the anniversary of Tain’s death, something caught my attention, just a brief Federation newsvid about a family. The parents were sentenced for crimes of genetic engineering on some far off-world. It was a whim to find out more, and I thought it might be something that would make the bastard turn over in his grave.

“I couldn’t have chosen better. You were everything Tain disdained: a male doctor, flaunting the conventions of gender roles. A Human who had the power to save ten times the lives Tain had ended. A man who still wanted to do good in the world, even though his government turned its back on him.

“What happened next was, in my defense, entirely your fault.”

“My fault?” he objected, indignant, finally looking at the man, still kneeling on the floor.

“I never intended to pay any attention to you. But you sent me those videos, those letters, and I couldn’t stop. I thought I could content myself to eavesdrop on your one-sided conversation with your elderly, benevolent ke’dal, but then you barged into my shop. Again and again, you insinuated yourself until I realized I missed you in all the moments you were not there. You have changed me.”

Julian didn’t trust himself to look again and stared straight ahead. “Go on.”

Garak moved closer. “I never would have done such a devious, foolish, and deceitful thing if I had any idea that I would fall so completely and irrevocably in love with you.”

Julian’s vision blurred. He still refused to look, feeling rather than seeing that Garak was now at his side. The clues were there if he had been looking.

Julian’s blood ran hot, the sensory memory of the evening before making his blood run hot as he looked down at Garak, his head at Julian’s knee. “You aren’t playing fair.”

“No. Not with something so precious in play. Can you forgive me?”

“I still have a lot of questions.”

“I will try to give you the answers to what I can, but there will be some I cannot.”

"How will I know if I know you? That anything you were was real?”

“In this,” Garak pressed the back of Julian’s hand to his chufa, a cherishing gesture, “I’ve always been honest.”

“Even the lies?”

“ _Especially_ the lies.”

That made Julian smile. “Yes.”

“Yes?”

Julian slid down the chair, onto the floor beside Garak. He brushed a finger across Garak’s chufa and cupped his cheek in his other gloved hand.

“Yes, Garak.”

He looked as if he could not believe his good fortune, turning to kiss the exposed wrist of Julian's gloved hand. "My dear scholar," he whispered reverently.

"My ke'dal."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gentle Readers,
> 
> Very much inspired by the 2015 musical of Daddy Long Legs, which I think is adorable, and the DS9 episode "The Wire," I just love that exchange.
> 
> This is almost the end, just a tiny epilogue left, which will be paired with information about what I'm calling "Letters Never Sent," the selections of Garak's point of view.
> 
> Wishing you happiness and joy, wherever you are, walkandtalk
> 
> p.s. today has been a very good day.


	28. Yours,

My Last Night In Room 002, Ba’aten Hall

Central University

Lakarian City

Cardassia

My Ke’dal,

For that is what you are: the one who cares for me, sees to my needs and happiness. You have done all that and more.

Today I graduated. You were there in the front row, next to Mila, wearing my graduation colors, the butter-yellow of an independent clinic. I will get to run the first pediatric clinic in Lakariy’ane, with the guidance from Doctor Tulme. I’ll be able to provide care to those that have had very little of it, thanks to a generous grant from an anonymous donor.

Tell him 'thank you' from me, would you?

Tonight you presented me with another gemstone, the last one to finish my betrothal bracelet. You insisted it would pale next to my commencement ribbons and the education I’ve earned, but you insisted you couldn’t wait another moment. You called me “my dear doctor,” and pressed the rose gemstone into my hand.

I know you wanted my answer right there and then, but you were too much of a gentleman to expect it.

I thought I would tell you in a letter.

I’ve never written a love letter before, but I suppose I’ve had a lot of practice working up to it. Because I do love you, every layer you've shown me and every side I've seen has inspired feelings I didn't know what to name until I saw all of you. I love you, my ke'dal, my tailor, my Garak.

Now that you’ve seen pages and pages of my heart and soul, will you keep it?

I await your reply.

Yours,

Julian

p.s. Did you find my gift yet? I hope the gloves weren’t too presumptuous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gentle Readers,
> 
> From the bottom of my heart, thank you for reading. Whether you've been one of the regular chapter commenters, new reader, or just sending a kudo, you all have truly been the best part of writing and sharing. This fandom is so kind and enthusiastic, I'll be sharing here again!
> 
> As promised, "Letters Never Sent" is already out and linked to this story. So subscribe to it, or the series, or to me to get those updates if you want a see some infatuated, jealous, and pining Garak.
> 
> Wishing you the very best, walkandtalk

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Garak's Clothiers](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27592319) by [ArsTyrannus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArsTyrannus/pseuds/ArsTyrannus)




End file.
